It’s possible we once danced by the light of the solstice moon,
runcible drunk, hunched over streetcar tracks to flatten a penny—
the only coin we had to offer against a thundering weight.
We don’t know whether passion will be renewed
at the same address on Ossington Avenue, where ceiling plaster
sprinkled our hair like crumbly feta, garnish to the salt stink of pleasure.
Can we count on postal carriers to negotiate a contract for delivery of nothing
but billets doux and arrangements for assignations at sea?
Will the local library lend us its volumes on love
so thigh to thigh we can sit down again
to read instructions for how to fill an empty vessel?
Will we flip to the page with the pop-up mast,
and lash ourselves to it, each siren to the other?
However demented we become, the moon will shift its light
all night on the water and twist itself into rings
we bought for one flattened penny.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 1.
Adrienne Drobnies grew up in Texas and California. She is a graduate of The Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver. Some of the journals where her poetry has appeared include The Toronto Quarterly, Scrivener, The Sow’s Ear Review, Popshot, and Ibbetson Street. Her long poem, “Randonnées,” was a finalist for the Canadian Broadcasting Company (CBC) literary award for poetry in 2009. Her website is http://adriennedrobnies.com.
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