You Can Take Off Your Sweater, I’ve Made Today Warm

Sit on the park bench and chew this mint leaf. Right now, way above your head, two men floating in a rocket ship are ignoring their delicate experiments, their buttons flashing red. Watching you chew your mint, the men forget about their gritty toothpaste, about their fingers, numb from lack of gravity. They see you and, for the first time since liftoff, think home. When they were boys they were gentle. And smart. One could tie string around a fly without cinching it in half. One wrote tales of sailors who drowned after mistaking the backs of whales for islands. Does it matter which man is which? They just quit their mission for you. They’re on their way down. You’ll take both men — a winter husband and a summer husband. Does it matter which is — don’t slump like that. Get up, we have so much work to do before —                          wait               you’re going the wrong     way               small whelp of a woman!         this is not how we     behave                       where are you going this world is already       willing to give you anything                  do you want to know Latin okay             now everyone here knows Latin            want inflatable     deer deer!               i promise the winter / summer children will barely hurt                   dear        i’m hurt   that you would ever think i don’t glisten to you         i’m always glistening tame your voice       and               turn around the men are coming                    they’ve traded everything for you               the gemmy   starlight the click                          click                                  click of the universe   expanding stop aren’t you known              aren’t you known here how can you be certain that anywhere else will provide more pears than you could ever eat remember the sweet rot of it all come back             you forgot your sweater what if there’s nothing there when you — you don’t have your sweater what if it’s cold