Saturn
Behind you
there’s a blackboard
covered in chalk outlines
of wasted opportunity,
but from here
they look like constellations
or a road map
to distant places
you fell in love with long ago.
I am captivated
by your moons and rings
the way
you teach me things
with that
cracked hourglass smile.
Sand spills from your lips
but I listen
as though I’ve got all the time in the Universe.
You taught me to speak your language
of dust and ice
but you didn’t teach me how to translate the
meaning in your eyes
every time
you glanced in my direction.
You taught me to love you,
why couldn’t you teach me
how to let you go?
How am I supposed to wake myself up
when dreaming of you
still feels like home?
© Gina Clingan 2017
From my book, Redford, which can be purchased here.
