Tag Archives: orbit

Little Cages

Because you knew
what it was like
to live in a little cage
in that life you lived
before him,
you had no wish
to hold him captive
or dictate his habits
or keep track
of every hour of his day.
You wanted freedom
to be the gravitational pull
that would keep him
in your orbit—
but it might have been
a terrible mistake
to promise you would
never interfere
or peek behind the doors
he wanted to keep closed—
because you’ve watched him
carry in the bottles
and the pipes—
and you know
he’s in there
with all the right tools
constructing his own
little cage.

 

 

 

DeMaris
12-18-16

Illustration by Wilfried Satty, 1976

 

Orbital Resonance

The party was delicious
with the smell of chocolate
and wine
and the people on the list
were beautiful
and dressed as if this
were the last day of the year
to advertise their singularity
and there were those little
clusters of stars
smiling and talking
and drinking too much
to notice that there were two
people in separate orbits
who couldn’t quite
manage to drift together
as nonchalantly and silently
as the two hands on
the midnight clock—
the ones that everyone watches
and waits for as if only their union
can grant permission
to cheer for the imaginary shift
into some uncharted galaxy
where maybe
just maybe
the candlelit atmosphere
of the back bedroom
where you go to retrieve your coat
from the heap of others
will become for an instant
populated with that other
lost planet
offering you a temporary gravity
in his elliptical arms
and what you both know
must be the first, last
and only kiss
of this or any other year.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
1-1-14

Orbital Resonance

The party was delicious
with the smell of chocolate
and wine
and the people on the list
were beautiful
and dressed as if this
were the last day of the year
to advertise their singularity
and there were those little
clusters of stars
smiling and talking
and drinking too much
to notice that there were two
people in separate orbits
who couldn’t quite
manage to drift together
as nonchalantly and silently
as the two hands on
the midnight clock—
the ones that everyone watches
and waits for as if only their union
can grant permission
to cheer for the imaginary shift
into some uncharted galaxy
where maybe
just maybe
the candlelit atmosphere
of the back bedroom
where you go to retrieve your coat
from the heap of others
will become for an instant
populated with that other
lost planet
offering you a temporary gravity
in his elliptical arms
and what you both know
must be the first, last
and only kiss
of this or any other year.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
1-1-14