We huddled in a room
too small to hold us;
our uncertainty

late into night
we kicked aside covers and conscience
revealing twenty-something secrets
of our aching souls

as the blinds spilled moonlight slices
across our peeling faces,
the dark provided a pillow for the fears, tears, truths
that lingered beyond laughter

like ancestral ghosts, these revelations danced in the dark
between spoken breaths, chanting for cleansing rain.

In our Microscopium* we could be real, like nowhere else
like elemental sister constellations, we connected
in a city full of disconnect

we roused the red-eyed night from slumber
despite the digital clock warning of inevitability,
and in the still, Wintry, starless night
our thoughts and words ran away with us

round the globe and back, we wandered
while huddled in a room
too small to hold us;
our uncertainty.

*Microscopium: (n.) A small inconspicuous constellation of stars in the skies of the southern hemisphere near Sagittarius

12/15/2004

Author's Note: This poem is written as a gift to a friend (Vaneska) whose birthday is today (12-15-04). Nevertheless it is still to be revised, especially since it was born only an hour ago. Please offer feedback if you have any.

Posted on 12/15/2004
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