Dan Kraines
Solar Eclipse
in the cornflower sky,
a new moon slid across the sun.
Out of paper and a cereal box and thin
foil, I slid the tinfoil into the eye
holes I cut and made a pin
wheel: blank in the late city
noon, flooded by green
and tan, my imagination of horror
and hue: I hurt when
I can’t speak; I couldn’t
speak because. Bending down to tighten
my laces, I unfolded my torso
toward the atrocity.
Wasn’t this the moment my gash opened?
If in blindness senses
heighten: what hurt me so much
was my choice. Thread
the plastic end of lace over lace or
under and over, again, the laces loop, ears
of a bunny. In the cottonfield
below the eclipse, my love stood alone
with strangers pooled.
I couldn’t know the astronomical calculation
forever set in motion, ruling
over, like the sphinx, or mastaba, opening
out of slow movement, disk of
hydrogen and helium, burning
behind the infinitesimally smaller rock,
moon, partner to earth.
One celestial body
unable to forget the other. In distant
orbit and connection, as if
through gravity, I return to facts
of myself: honey, you wound up
single as you are queer.
Queerness, like a rock in rain,
softening and glistening
without coming apart.
That I wore tights
for those weeks. That I had
read Burroughs shooting junk
and fucking boys. Cities
of the Red Night. Pink Triangle
upside down. Pink Triangle
flat side up. Speak up.
Hide. Come out. And perish.
Blood and lesions. Flourish
and thin. Hold each other in
a hospital bed. Invisible.
Alone or polyamorous or
like dolphins or swans.
The meat grater. The boat
motor. What carves me
up is the water and whirl
into its middle, made and
unmade by riptides.
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Dan Kraines is a queer poet of Ukrainian, Bolivian, and Viennese heritage. He lives in an old tenement building on the Lower East Side. Dan teaches creative writing at the Fashion Institute at night and reading comprehension to underserved high school students during the day. You can get Licht, his chapbook, from 7 Kitchens Press. He holds a doctorate in poetics from the University of Rochester and his dissertation, on Queer Longing, won the Susan B. Anthony Award for sexuality studies. His full length book of poems has been a finalist with Copper Canyon, for the Donald Hall Prize, the Amsterdam Open Book Prize, and the Gerald Cable Book Award. His poems have recently appeared in The Adroit Journal and The Cortland Review. You can find him: @dan_kraines.
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