Tag Archives: heaven

Somewhere

If you were there
and I was there too
in a proximity
that allowed us to touch
each other in the flesh
instead of with words
I wonder where it would be—
if it would be on sand
or under trees
or under sun or moon?
Would we feel
something like this—
like need, like hunger,
like heaven?
I wonder how long
it would take to decide
whether or not we would
want to make love
the way we make love
in my imagination
on nights like this
when you’re there
and I’m here wondering
if my proximity to you
will ever change—
and if such a change
might change the way
I want you—
which is badly, and now.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
11-25-16

 

Photo by Deanna Morae

 

 

 

 

Cultural Analysis

It’s okay if you
mispronounce my name.
There’s no way
you could have known
for sure
where the emphasis goes.
And I don’t mind
if you smile and say
god bless you,
as if your command
is a sure thing
on its way from heaven.
As long as we can agree
that kindness is the
goal of our intentions,
the truth needn’t
stand in our way.

DeMaris Gaunt
9-23-15

Mountains

Sometimes
you want the mountains
so badly
you have to throw
your car keys across the room
and cover your face
with both of your hands
for an entire minute
and hope you have the will
to walk over to the mantle
and look at the photo
of your second-grade son
who would become
as unstable as ash
if you decided
you couldn’t wait
another ten years
before you walked out
on every promise
you ever made—
so you stumble through
another day
that isn’t heaven
but is nowhere close to hell—
and you commit
to another decade,
day by day –
knowing your beloved child will,
by then,
have his own beloved—
his own set of hearts
to start breaking—
and his own gray mountain
looking glorious
in the dark blue distance.

DeMaris Gaunt
9-29-15

Recovery

Nearly as bad
as the death of your child
is the promise
by other survivors
(other crushable mothers)
that there is a form
of recovery in your future.

It will always be
a tender wound, they tell you,
but it will scab over
and allow you short reprieves
where the pain is bearable
and even smiles can return
to the landscape
above your shoulders.

To entertain a future
without muddy shoes
running into the house
and all those messes
I hated to clean up
feels like a Gift of the Magi
gone terribly wrong.

A single joy
seems unimaginable
and undeserved,
but his abbreviated life was
was so large with love—
it’s pushing me against my will
to believe he wouldn’t want
my life to end with his.

DeMaris Gaunt
12-22-14