LOVE Poem: COPULA, by Megan Ortiz

I swallowed static,
Sour static that fueled the drunk bacanal,
I drank in gulps examining a portrait of Emily Dickinson.
On Emily Dickison’s grave it reads, “Called back.”
Where did she go in death?
To a life where she loved herself more than another?
To a time, where she understood her own soul?
But, my larger question was why her picture sat in this bar?

In a clogged city, we found solace,
Walked and talked riper than before,
We sat praising past loves,
I asked of your latest heartbreak,
You spelled her name, nervous you might not know it,
She must gleam, parts of her core flickering
Maybe that is why she cut it open,
Trying to find what made her sparkle,
I love her,
Though I am unknown to her, I’d comfort her,
As someone did for me in tears for you,
I often think of her bright future,
For if she ever needed some light,
All she must do is grab some that I left at her door.

The bar smelled of old loves, tiresome transactions,
Rotting ones that whispered the same stories,
Budding ones that stretched out before our eyes,
Our company must mistake us for love,
But the magician saw through the fraud,
Magic used to exist in our timelines,
Now all smudged and erased,
Graphite remnants remaining within us.
I hem and haw between your eyes,
Afraid to be really looking at you,
Fearing your admittance,
You cover my ears,
The way a mother would to their impressionable child,

But if silence takes me to the stars, then let them take me home.

The latin root of “couple,” is “copula,” meaning bond,
We once coupled in the sun,
Couples often couple when they are not a couple.
Do our bodies know when we break a bond?
Or do our limps wait for the touch to return?

When I finished my static,
You went to retrieve more,
Emily sat with me,
Upon your return you kissed me;
And I understood that I too was called back to my grave…