Here's something you might be interested in.
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Kissing
- They are kissing, on a park bench,
- on the edge of an old bed, in a doorway
- or on the floor of a church. Kissing
- as the streets fill with balloons
- or soldiers, locusts or confetti, water
- or fire or dust. Kissing down through
- the centuries under sun or stars, a dead tree,
- an umbrella, amid derelicts. Kissing
- as Christ carries his cross, as Gandhi
- sings his speeches, as a bullet
- careens through the air toward a child’s
- good heart. They are kissing,
- long, deep, spacious kisses, exploring
- the silence of the tongue, the mute
- rungs of the upper palate, hungry
- for the living flesh. They are still
- kissing when the cars crash and the bombs
- drop, when the babies are born crying
- into the white air, when Mozart bends
- to his bowl of soup and Stalin
- bends to his garden. They are kissing
- to begin the world again. Nothing
- can stop them. They kiss until their lips
- swell, their thick tongues quickening
- to the budded touch, licking up
- the sweet juices. I want to believe
- they are kissing to save the world,
- but they’re not. All they know
- is this press and need, these two-legged
- beasts, their faces like roses crushed
- together and opening, they are covering
- their teeth, they are doing what they have to do
- to survive the worst, they are sealing
- the hard words in, they are dying
- for our sins. In a broken world they are
- practicing this simple and singular act
- to perfection. They are holding
- onto each other. They are kissing.
American poet Dorianne Laux teaches poetry for the Pacific University Low Residency Program and at North Carolina State University, where she is Poet-in-Residence. “Kissing” is from her collection What We Carry, published by BOA Editions, Ltd. © and is used with permission.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Kissing
Kissing
- They are kissing, on a park bench,
- on the edge of an old bed, in a doorway
- or on the floor of a church. Kissing
- as the streets fill with balloons
- or soldiers, locusts or confetti, water
- or fire or dust. Kissing down through
- the centuries under sun or stars, a dead tree,
- an umbrella, amid derelicts. Kissing
- as Christ carries his cross, as Gandhi
- sings his speeches, as a bullet
- careens through the air toward a child’s
- good heart. They are kissing,
- long, deep, spacious kisses, exploring
- the silence of the tongue, the mute
- rungs of the upper palate, hungry
- for the living flesh. They are still
- kissing when the cars crash and the bombs
- drop, when the babies are born crying
- into the white air, when Mozart bends
- to his bowl of soup and Stalin
- bends to his garden. They are kissing
- to begin the world again. Nothing
- can stop them. They kiss until their lips
- swell, their thick tongues quickening
- to the budded touch, licking up
- the sweet juices. I want to believe
- they are kissing to save the world,
- but they’re not. All they know
- is this press and need, these two-legged
- beasts, their faces like roses crushed
- together and opening, they are covering
- their teeth, they are doing what they have to do
- to survive the worst, they are sealing
- the hard words in, they are dying
- for our sins. In a broken world they are
- practicing this simple and singular act
- to perfection. They are holding
- onto each other. They are kissing.
American poet Dorianne Laux teaches poetry for the Pacific University Low Residency Program and at North Carolina State University, where she is Poet-in-Residence. “Kissing” is from her collection What We Carry, published by BOA Editions, Ltd. © and is used with permission.
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