She danced all night and suddenly
it was all about being
loved like a woman ought
and I thought I would die
of gin and adoration, I thought
if only I could freeze this dance
into a loop, carve it out of whitefaced
time and paste it into a sea of brown,
if only the earth permitted the holding
of hands across borders, heroes and grandchildren
would be born, but it was just a Berlin night
with the earth still spinning drunk off her axis,
that if it weren’t for fucking gravity, she could fucking
love the sun again.
More of Kyla Pasha’s poems from High Noon and the Body HERE.