by Emily Su
Art by Joyce Kung
Issue: Audeamus (Winter 2011)
there is that distance
an aching freeway smeared in neon orange and red
swallowed with an infinite hiss.
assiduous souls whiz restlessly below, gnawing
at my tumultuous thoughts:
when had these stars lost themselves
becoming city lights?
grazing the metropolitan river line
i find you dazed in your familiar jacket, worn but white.
your distracted fingers fidget within threadbare pockets,
your eyes glazed and unseeing as the bright globes skewered
to the ground.
and i can’t help but smile,
despite seeing you the farthest
you’ve been
from where i stand.
suddenly, the bridge below
snaps at my toes with an asphalt snarl.
the space jeers as i call out once.
your gaze clasps hungrily in mine.
there cannot be any less time
yearning for the moment when we become
inextricable, immortal, saturated in each other’s arms.
with a flying start,
we vow to meet each other halfway,
and in a single catch of breath,
the lights return to the stars, and we
jump.
