By Heidi Nicole
If the cosmos in the kitchen window could talk, they’d be screaming, watching us here.
And who wouldn’t be, resting just far enough apart that our knees touch if we laugh too hard,
fearful any contact might cause electrocution.
The July breeze whisks away the scorching sun and dresses it with glitter.
I gaze at the fireflies and trace the stitches of the secondhand shirt I chose
hoping she would like the way the soft seafoam fabric felt in her hands.
“Look!” She pulls me outside and gazes up. “The constellations are so clear here.”
“You know,” I say, “The internet tells me Orion and Gaia
are perpetually chasing each other.”
The eyes of the cosmos stare across the yard,
a universe unfolding in their very name.
I have been here for five hours, sipping fizzy lemonade and staring at the sky,
watching our shadows grow long enough to disappear, angling my face,
and she hasn’t kissed me yet.
Who knew that grazing a thumb over a thigh would be enough to start a fire…
Someone better do something.
It is all pendent on this.
Heidi Nicole (she/her) is a queer educator, theatre artist, grad student, and writer. In all of her work, she strives to foster spaces of authenticity, curiosity, and empathy. Past publications can be viewed in NCTE’s Voices from the Middle and The English Journal. Heidi is excited to be a part of this addition of Q&A, as she plans to use her creative writing to continue sharing positive, honest queer stories in the future. Shout out to her cats for walking across her keyboard while writing this, as well as to anyone who can relate to the experiences depicted in this poem.
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