Red Sweater Jane by John Davis

So astute with a flick
of her finger, she smiled
under chalky white sky.

They said she was dead
but her thick, red sweater
and rose-cheek skin

smooth as ponds by the beach
where we camped, splayed
our bodies in the sand.

She returned last night
ready to goose me
where I wanted to be goosed.

But you’re wrong, so wrong.
I’m thirty years dead.
I’ve only come to say hello.

John Davis is a polio survivor and the author of Gigs and The Reservist. His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea.