Friday, February 16, 2018

Poems I Admire #48

Cells Divide and Are Forever Separate 

Just when we finally draw near
it is there between us like a membrane,
a silk screen, a heavy drape.

Sometimes I think I can really see you
but then the gauze covers your gaze
and you’ve slipped away.

Sometimes it seems I can really touch you,
but our separateness enfolds us
like a swallowing fog.

I settle for those times when we can just
hold each other, your warm being next to mine
and I honor an illusion of oneness

as we stand together in the kitchen,
arms around each other, holding close
with May outside, the night air gravid

with jasmine and only the thinnest gauze
of cloud to separate us from the moon
swelling golden above the pines.

First appeared in Chiron Review

Tamara Madison is the author of the chapbook "The Belly Remembers" as well as two full-length volumes of poetry, "Wild Domestic" and "Moraine" (in which this poem appears), all published by Pearl Editions. Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals in the U.S. and abroad, including Pearl, Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Linnets Wings, The Writer's Almanac and others. She is thrilled to have recently retired from teaching English and French in a Los Angeles high school.

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