Orbit

by Jess L Parker

Yesterday he walked away and fell right back
to kiss me. It’s as if there is a gravity between us.

He says words to me like tomorrow and ours and we
until I am a molten thing in his outstretched hand—

a dissolving bit of cosmos clinging to his collarbone.
His stare is a penetrating thing which makes me want

to say what I’m not supposed to. So, he puts his thumb
under my chin and turns me over like a lucky penny—

a much loved totem between his fingers made themselves
a home around my neck and in this way, it is easily that

I am spent. He tells me about quasars and that binary stars
are the most common cosmic relationship. The density

of a neutron star is something the human mind can
barely comprehend. When he looks into me I want

to confess every little thing. It’s all I can do, then,
to keep my eyes still and say nothing while,

silently, I let my body spin—
a little closer in.

***

Jess L Parker is a poet and strategist from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Jess lives in Fitchburg, WI with her three-year-old son. Her debut poetry collection, Star Things, won the 2020 Dynamo Verlag Book Prize. Jess’ poems have appeared in Bramble, Kosmos Quarterly, Blue Heron Review, and elsewhere. Jess holds a BA of English and Spanish from Northern Michigan University, an MA of Spanish Literature from UW-Madison, and an MBA.