six and and a half minutes to soft boil
I think about the last poem
I wrote for you;
full of yearning, bright
with glee, full of
unrealized mornings.
how cringe, I think, and let a little laugh
ring out to affirm that spectre of joy.
there's a soft silence that
spreads
smoothly between us now, a simple
stretching of time.
we’ll cry more,
we’ll speak less
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Cascading Contranyms
in the strange and mistangled arc of our lives,
flights and faces in trim
stripped, decorated
you called our meeting a near miss
lilting steps and latitudes from passing
past each other uneventfully, and millimeters
blush tones and brows from passing
we collided midair
and came down together
our hearts form a field of debris
arms cleave together
lives cleave apart
I walk through our fuselage
find pieces of us everywhere
and slice my palms handling them
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
ERI LUCIA KAPLING is a trans writer and mother from Chicago. When it isn't working on poems or churning out another zine for press, it can often be found meditating while painting scale miniatures or conducting a cacophony while cooking. Its past works can be found in New Session. You can find its social media on Bluesky at the handle @deerea.rs on on twitter at @not12x.