Ménage à Trois
By Timothy Kercher
I woke up at 4 a.m., turned on the faucet,
and a stone droppedfrom the spigot.
I took the stone and went back to bed.
The rock was cold, like it had been sleeping outside.
I turned it over and over in my hands, touching its surface as I tried to fall asleep.
The stone was larger, more complex than I thought,
had roads and rivers,
mountains and valleys—
I wrapped my entire body around it.
Sleeping in between two wives:
one of flesh,
one of stone.
I expected both to be jealous, but the stone was accepting.
And warm.
We decided to rearrange things.
Put the stone wife between us on the bed.
The stone swelling with heat, enough to shed the covers,
the three of us
cleaving together
when the stone began expanding, encircling us like a tower,
my wife and I embracing—
the stone’s windows looking in on us.
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