Confusing Sex with Love

Julio Machado

This is how it was. She was eight feet tall if she was an inch, legs
like Christmas-hams, breasts like windmills, like volcanoes, tectonic
catastrophes. She burned up villages and swallowed roads.She took my hand and said, I’m going to show you everything.We went among the barns. It was the solstice and the night was minutes
long. And hot—the chickens were dropping fried eggs in their coops,
the horses sweating glue. One of those nights the moon leaves you
sunburned.We made something like love, but without the story. Friction like trains
derailing, like a horde of locusts. There was no letting go. The howling
we made woke up Moses himself and he said, Part!Only that one word could have done it. Her eyes were galactic spotlights.
Steam pouring out of her mouth and hands. Ignitions in the atmosphere,
the seas vaporizing. Birds cawing and falling around us.I held on to the last palm tree, a flap of skin like a flag in the wind,
signaling I surrender.

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Julio Machado is a Cuban American poet, writing and teaching in Miami. He received his undergraduate degree in History and Literature from Harvard University, and completed an MFA at Florida International University. His work has most recently appeared in the Kenyon Review, Threepenny Review, and Water Stone Review.

American Poetry Review

March/April 2018

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Elizabeth Scanlon

The American Poetry Review is dedicated to reaching a worldwide audience with a diverse array of the best contemporary poetry and literary prose. APR also aims to expand the audience interested in poetry and literature, and to provide authors, especially poets, with a far-reaching forum in which to present their work.

APR has continued uninterrupted publication of The American Poetry Review since 1972, and has included the work of over 1,500 writers, among whom there are nine Nobel Prize laureates and thirty-three Pulitzer Prize winners.

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