laura

 


moon face

you have a silver and blue shining face.

a stream of light from a nearby star rebounds off the moon,
       turning and making its way toward you.

on contact, the light transforms.

a representation of your skin and eyes and lips and cheeks finds its way into the cavities of my eyes, 
       and softly illuminates the inside of my head

like the moonlit surface of a planet, turned inside out.

 

what if we were satellites 

what if we woke up one day having turned into a warm fine mist,
and were taken away from our bed on a breeze

what if we got stuck to a dandelion, and then sneezed out by a dog’s wet nose,
before landing on a hot stone where we baked in the sun until we evaporated

and what if we ended up in two different clouds, but still near by,
and fell down with the rain into the same small lake

what if a canoe came by and with its oars, dipped and pulled,
turning us into a pair of swirling miniature whirlpools

what if we twirled and twirled until a certain kind of physics insisted we combine

and what if we moved with the wind and the tides for months until our hemisphere cooled,
and our thoughts got slower and we strained to communicate until it all froze up

i bet the quiet would be a nice change, the cold, still silence that would go on for 100 days.
we would enjoy the pace, a chance to meditate and stop worrying about chores or the internet or each other

right before we got bored of it, the earth would tilt toward the sun and we’d start to hear the sound of dripping.
it would come from all around us and soon we’d thaw too, into a couple of cold drops barely warm enough to be liquid

soon we’d join some other cold drops, pockets of them would form around us until the edges all cracked,
and with a splash it would become a lake of water again

maybe we’d be near the bottom, with the rocks and mush, remembering what it felt like to be a cloud,
and with a little wriggling we’d find our way to the surface, and wait for the sun to do what it does

partway between the lake and the sky we’d grab a hold of each other and decide to keep wriggling.
we’d pass through the clouds, being careful not to freeze again when we got to a high altitude

with a little shove we’d pop through the ozone and find our way into orbit.
it would remind us of being frozen, with the quiet, calm, carefree stillness,
but with a better view

 


the inverse of you

whenever i close my eyes i see a negative image
               of the contrasts of your face

the darks are bright and the brights are dark

but its all a type of pink
that doesn't exist outside of the backs of my eyes,
               or the inverse of your face

if i met an inverted version of you
               would i like them better?
               would they love me better?

i think we would still argue, but for different reasons.

would we still laugh?
would we have anything to laugh about?

how often would i cry?

how often would i wonder
         what it would be like
                  to meet the inverse of you?

 

l-o-l

someone holds up a mirror to your face and it reflects back a better version of you

"look"—they say—and you do.

she looks like you but shinier.
quieter, 
smaller,
more well read.

she probably eats better, and cleans the floors more often. 
the cat hair doesn't build up in the spaces between her things,
and she meditates every day. she finishes every thing she starts, 
and calls her friends on the phone exactly the right amount.

"it's a joke" they say, "laugh"

and you LAUGH


 

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