Tag Archives: party

Speed Limit

Going the speed limit
it takes ten minutes
to get to the hospital
and in the car
with you on my lap
it felt like twenty
and the simple directions
on the side of the Epi-Pen
were written in English
which might as well
have been another language
as foreign as the doctor
who saw in my eyes
the universal fear
that transcends words
when a child is in peril
this time
after eating a peanut butter cookie
camouflaged in white chocolate
as thick as the conversation
at the Christmas party
where your father and I
were the only ones
who didn’t believe in god
and when we took you home
hours later
we put you to bed
and lay awake taking
about how grateful we were
to all those people who worked
to save your life
with all that
accumulated information
in their brains
and those inventions and machines
that took years to develop
and test
and then your father sighed deeply
before turning out the light
and said into the darkness
how amazed he was
that we got to the hospital
in under five minutes.
“Miracle,” I said
and he agreed.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
12-24-13

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

Something

To say that nothing happened
is true—if by nothing you mean
laying down naked
or kissing or holding hands.
We didn’t lay down naked
or kiss or hold hands—
but what about the walk we took
around the lake
not far from the party?
The dirt trail was shadowed with pines,
tall and indifferent to the way
our eyes fell into shyness as we spoke.
So no.  Nothing happened
that would be a betrayal
or a crime against your trust
even though we briefly touched
when he helped me cross a log
that bridged a glasswater creek
so we could examine the full moon
from a treeless clearing.
But we did feel the razor wire
of restraint as we stood, shivering
and silent in the field of possibilities
where he didn’t put his lips to mine
even though I fear I might have let him
if he hadn’t reminded me
with sensible regret
that we both have breakable hearts
waiting back home—
trusting that nothing would happen
even though we wanted it to.

 

DeMaris
10-2-14

Night Poem

Night Poem

Stop reading if it isn’t late at night.

 

And if there is any light,

let it be the glow of a half burned candle.

 

You must be alone to understand

this tale of disappointment:

that the number of people in a room

can be too large and too quiet

and too drunk to understand your poetry,

even if it’s the only thing you’ve ever said

worth saying out loud

or remembering.

 

Morning will burst in other houses

and like the wine and the weed,

your words have gone up in smoke—

for a moment filled a hollow space,

stirred the air with transparent wings

then disappeared.

 

 

 

DeMaris Gaunt

3-18-13