September 2005  

Missing You    ©    by    Kristen Gravitte
 

I imagine you, not all at once,
but piece by piece, which is possible.
I place each mole precisely where
I remember it was. I flesh out the warm
circumference of your torso,
the dimensions of your comfortable belly.

Your face is harder. Usually I don’t try;
I just get it so my head is on your chest.
When images don’t do it,
I fall back on terms
like pelvis, metabolism, vas deferens—
scientific, but false. Not you at all.

The curtain of your epidermis.
Your smell enclosed in hormones
like mollusks in shells.
Sparrows of red blood cells migrating
from nests in bone marrow to right ventricle, left
ventricle, vena cava. Metabolism.

The long barge of my thoughts now
rides low in the water. The tug boat
drags me down the evening tide.
This is the message hidden in structure:
Love is an order yoked to disorder.

Previously published in the North Carolina Poetry Society's
Pinesong: Awards 2005. Used with the poet's permission.
NOTICE: The copyright © for this poem belongs to the poet.