Sometimes two people
come together with their bodies
and it is so like the way
they feel inside
and the first person holds out
an apple to the second
and the second holds out
an oar to the first
and they float away smiling
using neither.
Sometimes something
will burst between them
like a star or something
a layman can’t name
something far away
in space that becomes
less and more of itself bursting
apart in that lack of gravity
having all of its pieces
nearby and whole.
Laurin Becker Macios was born in Miami, Florida and raised just short of everywhere. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing, Poetry from the University of New Hampshire where she taught on fellowship for three years, and she is the Program Director of the Poetry Society of America after several years as Program Director of Mass Poetry. Her work appears in Salamander, Boxcar Poetry Review, [PANK], The Pinch, and elsewhere. A finalist for the 2014 Boston Review/92 Y Unterberg Poetry Center "Discovery Prize," she lives in NYC and can be found at laurinbeckermacios.com.
Latest posts by Laurin Macios (see all)
- Sometimes Two People Come Together With Their Bodies - September 7, 2016
![[I should know emergency]](https://i0.wp.com/greenmountainsreview.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/57e8d0404e52ac14ea898675c6203f78083edbed5059744f742b7f_640_pills.jpg?resize=150%2C150 "[I should know emergency]")
