Gleam

Grab at stars and use them to swing through the dark
as you hop on treetops avoiding the jaws beneath you
the stars grow light
a moving miracle
we take the stars, leave gaps
burning through the blue pass, calling back sky
we start poking holes, stolen,
start dodging traps in
seas, dying, and I wallow.

Glowing is an art, rising in gold
and white, white illumination falls, slashes blind
hum blaze melting to sallow howls, go, go
glow louder
turning finally
I swallow
crescendo
caught mid-kiss
pearl stash high and blue, watching,
grazing low navel. I made you up
ice buckets, ash leap, neap tide at night
the salt, split tears grow

standing under moon
standing under the universe
standing in the swell
standing under the sky, free

The woman is war.

Summer Qabazard is a poet who grew up in Kuwait and now lives in Normal, Illinois where she is a Ph.D student at Illinois State University. Her poem, “All Hands Bury the Dead” appears in The University of Missouri-St. Louis’s literary magazine, Litmag.

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