Consumed by Jessica Lee


Eyes blue behind
scratched shades,
we rubbed ourselves

with olive oil
left imprints
on the pool’s

wet deck. If our
hips were still
small enough to fit

in swings, how big
were our little outlines?
This is how the Greeks

did it, we figured,
achieved that olive
glow, the way

if you wanted to be
loved, you
consumed love—

Celine Dion, Hershey’s
kisses, etc. Slept
under Orion’s Belt

and your brother
at the other end
of the deck, how I

consumed his wet mouth
once you fell asleep,
took what was offered

and hoped—
to what?
Be brave enough

to one-day dive
my hand below
a waistband, let someone

make of me
a pool, body
of water large enough

to dive into.


Jessica Lee is an Assistant Poetry Editor for Narrative Magazine and an Editorial Reader for Copper Canyon Press. Her poems have been published in BOAAT, Fugue, Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week, Passages North, Phoebe, Prairie Schooner, THRUSH, Zone 3, and elsewhere. She lives in the Pacific Northwest. Find her online at