This poem was originally published in Little Death Literary, but currently appears to be unavailable on their website.
This poem marked a new period of my poetry. Prior to this poem, I was primarily writing self-contained pieces in the margins of my long-form fiction projects. A lot of that is due to a long-term struggle with agoraphobia & panic disorder & spending a majority of my time keeping to myself with my only line to the outside world being a close-knit writer’s discord server.
I started writing this poem when I was sitting in a restaurant in Seattle on a trip that ultimately reconnected me with some of my best friends & pulled me — however momentarily, thanks to the gd pandemic — completely outside of the story I always had for myself.
I’ll be forever grateful for the strange, short moment described in this poem because it changed who I am & what I write about enough to set me on an entirely different trajectory as a writer & artist in general.
Ace of Wands / Rainier & Hudson
Before we burned, we fell —
a thousand miles & a thousand
stars pulled like thread
through the fabric of the sky,
clouds crumbled to gather
heart-shaped in the foam
floating over a lukewarm breve —
the city’s song ebbing
as you turned to see me there
counting syllables against
the table’s edge; a second
alive in the seams of the sky,
& I can’t forget how I choked
on my stupid heart & the clouds
in my coffee, I can’t forget
how it felt to tumble through
the exosphere, arms like arrows,
splitting time into befores
& afterwards, lost my count
in the glance & from across
the table someone chuckled,
could have come from another
galaxy for all I cared,
but then you turned back
& you went on your way