Pamela Hobart Carter
I SHED MY HATE
after “I Save My Love” by Marjorie Saiser
I shed my hate for what lies distant,
for the rude man, professor of literature,
when I replay the unasked kiss
dropped on my head. I shed
my hate for the sips from Greek diner cups,
at his behest—as obediently undertaken
as an assignment. He argued, no academic
should dislike coffee. His wide dark desk
between us. No place to rinse
astringence from my tongue. I shed my hate
for what stayed. The lewd stare
his eyes ran over my sweater, my hand
reaching for the doorknob.
The look lasts, painted like an oil over a sketch,
his, “You have a nice body,” the name of the work.
His voice, tinted by his native Russian,
in forest colors—olives, siennas, madders,
I loved to see in the wild on the other side
of his office glass, him gazing at the teenager.
The teenager gazing at the trees.