As Venus and Jupiter Converge, We Fall Apart

by | Jun 2, 2016 | Poetry

It used to be we would star-watch together, but lately I find myself
searching the night sky alone. Looking for a sign? Looking for a way out.

The solar storms bring the Northern Lights to our horizon,
but you don’t see them. They glow blue and orange, colors not even

visible on your spectrum. Spectral, magnetic storms cause disruptions,
draw our hearts more distant. I bang my head against the landscape;

suburban sprawl out every window, fires burning on the television.
How many churches destroyed? How many of us spinning apart?

I used to want to die. I would wait for life to trickle out of me, a little
at a time. Lately I’ve been watching the moon, reflecting back my own face,

pale, waxing and waning, always alone. She doesn’t know or care about us.
The two planets appear shining, so close they are almost one star now,

but this is an illusion. They are in distant orbit, isolated in their dusty,
unbreathable atmospheres, unable to stand, ever, to touch.



Photo by Stefano Corso

About The Author

Jeannine Hall Gailey

Jeannine Hall Gailey is the Seattle-area author of Becoming the Villainess (Steel Toe Books, 2006) and She Returns to the Floating World (Kitsune Books, 2011) which is an Eric Hoffer Montaigne Medal finalist. Her poems were featured on NPR’s The Writer’s Almanac and on Verse Daily; two were included in 2007’s The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. Her work has appeared in The Iowa Review, Prairie Schooner, and Crab Orchard Review; she reviews books for The Rumpus. She volunteers as an editorial consultant for Crab Creek Review and currently teaches part-time at the MFA program at National University.