Natasha Deonarain
Social Distancing
speak to me—
tell me the textured story I long to hear, to see
what isn’t there but don’t
open your mouth; your words are potent drops of venom
dangling in this biting air & we’ve been told
by powers that be to stay
six feet away—
we can’t touch anymore—
but should I be shunned to say I ache for the tight clasp of your fingers
in mine, unspoken words that held & would never
let go (but did) & would I be wrong
to whisper that I want so much the bouldered foundation of your smile;
a bordered wall around just you & me?
now I can only imagine what’s behind your mask,
what’s hidden inside
this electric screen of distorted images I receive, yet I can still remember
the breath of our laughter once—
mixed together as multiformed icicles in skating rink air
when we
turned & twirled, arms outstretched & the world
only a blur but tell me—
when this is all over, will we find each other again?
Natasha Deonarain is the author of the chapbook 50 etudes for piano (Assure Press, forthcoming). Her work has appeared in The Inflectionist Review, Rogue Agent Journal, The RavensPerch, Door Is Ajar, and other journals, as well as in the Little Red Tree International Poetry Prize: 2012 Anthology, and was selected by NELLE magazine for this year’s Three Sisters Award for poetry. Deonarain divides her time between Colorado and Arizona.
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