Chelsea Harlan '11
I hear the hinge whine, the screen shake,
count footsteps on fingers and meet you
past one. You’ve promised me icebergs.
I dream them and they’re there. Chandeliers
of sea cerulean splint our sheets together,
we wait and lie and thaw. Above arctic:
Saturn, all opal-bashful and stunning,
winks when we see her. I hesitate,
I have no fate in space but want it and you
fascinate me, pull me in fast and sinking.
This is Saturn’s own summer. Beneath her
I think now I am getting to know you,
knowing to get you, the starlings caw.
It’s not far to where the hay hills are
so we will go soon by beeline, humming
heads tucked between knees. New me.
Honey tea teeth and I can’t stop touching,
I here, you there, wading in from the sea.