Take your telescope and spin it around
until you’re too dizzy
to think. The length of the desert keeps changing,
heat rising in wrinkled waves.
We’ve travelled from
the polar caps for this, and there’s power
in that movement.
Three words, and they are
what you think, but maybe we can take the morning light
and fold it into our pockets, brush against it with our knuckles,
remember it’s there and smile.
We’re tremendously lucky, mapping the scratches
on the laminate floor. It’s useful as we move,
fighting the forces against us, shoving our backs
Find your favorite nebula.
Kiss me again.
Alana Saltz is a poet, writer, and disability rights activist living in Tacoma, WA. Her poetry has appeared in Words Dance, Rust+Moth, Anti-Heroin Chic, LadyLibertyLit, and voxpoetica.