airplane

the missing is not spread between many, or even two points, 

but draped over one like a blanket on a broomhandle, 

that is why I'm writing about you

 

when I think of you, I see for some reason, 

a porcelain plate of black olives sitting on the chalky moon

 

and of your thin, long feet propped up on on the edge of the worn, velvetine couch, pale and

casting blue

your legs across my lap,

so when I leaned onto you

they looked enormous against the cold window

pushing back brooklyn in january

 

eclipsing an airplane that flew through them

like its wings were needles and you and your mythical feet were a totem they pricked into being

with opal thread

 

I know I really love someone when I like the smell of tobacco on them- 

but it also reminded me, more constantly than usual

that you will die

 

I feel bad for the way we fell apart, 

but I had to become someone new 

before I felt it

Cosper is an Oregon poet, painter and facilitator of creative experiments. Their self-published chapbook is entitled “Palm Sized Volcano.” They have also authored and designed the creative-writing game “Sugar, Porridge, Spoons.” They are the co-founder of Portland’s “Winter Poetry Festival” and a graduate of the IPRC’s Certificate Program in Poetry.

©2018 HighShelfPress.