Monday, 9 January 2012

Milky Way

It is on days like this that I drink too much tea
and create a whirlpool of my stomach as the lactose settles,
and all you can say is uhuh, guhuh, your nakedness an entirety
and a subtle threat of chaos to be unleashed.
Half the world is out of your reach, your up-stretched hands
starfish, seekers, your palms maps that have not yet been written.
You describe the world as guhuh, and I drink tea and find
a galaxy threaded inside, an opening of my thoughts,
a settling of my tired eyes and star after star to string for you.
It will be years before you can understand. Astronomy. Navigation.
Myth. Hydrogen blazing in spheres and atoms out of reach.
Now you are a mountain climber, a daredevil. You can say, a-gone.
You would toss away your yolk-yellow duck and reach for
handles, books, and dip your bread in daddy’s tea and suck the liquor.
You would toss aside anything that does not suit, a king kong in the city
and your starfish hands would settle only on the inappropriate.
your havoc is mellowed with honey. The curtains are a forest,
a hideout and a shield, and I sit with my tea, and no place to hide.

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