We began in bright, perihelial shades
Trampoline back tucks and glittery eyelids, adding to your shine
Remember that mall run with your preteen friends, blasting the radio in the car?
You discover sex, assault, their concomitance, body and blood, pleasure and pain-
ful silence, the prevalence of the sick union,
Pot and late-night philosophy, polemics as a temporary fix, biochemistry of matter, custom weddings, mortgaging your dreams —
Fusion. You are energy and invincible.
Mantra á cappella, sonic flare, my voice trails off cold as I make no light
Flashes and specks of the wide world swirl and you gather
Forming a question mark from my perspective and one I will never cease to wonder…
We are cosmically different.
You are organs, I am blood;
You are stars, I am comet.
I am not your bridesmaid or godmother to your kin
I am not your gossip girlfriend or sage wise woman
But no sense in apologizing for something I am not:
Equal to you.
On ethereal pilgrimage,
I will forever be approaching your mythicized light or retreating into vast space
Where I find home
Never fixed like you, never to remain.
So when I say, “I love you”
Can you let the meaning be absorbed into your cores, alchemized to blaze more brightly than I could ever manage on my own?
Or is my love not real to you seven radiant sisters, nothing but ice and dust?
When the universe ends and we are together crunched into one last trace of identity, will we at last have communicated that one thing?
©2018, Amaya Engleking
Inspired by Björn’s prompt last week on epistolary poetry. I was too busy with sick children to participate then, but I’ll link this to Thursday’s Open Link Night. ‘Dear Pleiades’ (Pleiades, the constellation of the “seven sisters”) is addressed to my seven sisters: one biological, six by marriage.
Image Credit: Amazing Sky