February 2026
I’m Not Afraid of Wedding Cake I Find it Erotic
After Arthur Russell
I.
Emerging from a station formed from
Dante’s design which is to say I was
on a layercake journey
meeting a long distance lover
arduously as ever
and was relieved to find paradise
halfway for someone else, almost me
a woman dangling from the handrail
her upper arms
I’ve always loved an upper arm
framing her head
her weight hanging
writhing all over
her lover
her long hair
the sentimental strings
a curtain for their gaze
I text at the speed of light
She’s bouncing on it trapeze-style
right here on the train
On a trainsweetness
What would you do if I did that
and thought of one morning
a blinding white-lit room
face to face
a hand cupping both sets of eyes
enjoying false night for two
the slam dunk
of a total eclipse
II.
Half-lit orange-like room
thighs framing
a half-up half-down hair do
in valley the
collapse so severely in motion
sensation unbearable
a soft head resting
on this is all I have
it belonged to me as much as anyone
the fried yellow yard
a spidery hand
through a chainlink fence
riling up the dog knowing
there’s grief for one look
in the eyes and no language
III.
A shoe store to the max
santa hat upon a woman
beside the birkenstocks
and pungent rubber
she throws her hands up
looks for an audience
laughs
announces
Everything has changed
What happened to the world I knew?
My only clear memory is arriving
but this is what it’s like
this is what it’s like
IV.
A playground is an earth
a horsegirl is a fawn
rubbing up on everyone
neighing
naturally
I acquiesce
when she drapes her torso
onto my lap
not yet sat upon by anyone
her fawn exhaustion
my only priority
I pet her head
finger catching in her ear
like a shell
I shush gently
will my frame soft against hers
bumpy and hard and wonder
What would it be like to wait
for the fawn to come home
Take care of it
put it to bed
Anna Rahkonen is a writer from Alabama. She is a library worker and a reader for The Paris Review. She lives in New York City.