Kent Shaw

The Chandelier Should Not Suffer So Much Grandiloquence

 

Rhyming is what people do in the spring. And traversing. And with the right lighting,
everywhere, people get into thoughtful conversations.
Pronouns laugh in the other room. One of the couples, somewhere, is running out
    into the pasture.
I can’t help saying it. Everyone is falling in love.

The snakes in their snake pits. Whatever the bacteria in a throat culture.
Shades of light blue getting close enough together that they can finally agree on the
    sky.

Thank God I am a pronoun.
And this afternoon, and in the evening, and all night long I’m holding my elbows at
    30o angles.
With my fist to my chin and my chin to my wrist.
I look like a chandelier.
And bring two people anywhere close to a chandelier, it usually means romance.

Like two different honeys poured into a tin mould.
Like two hours in the early morning.
Like elementary school multiplication, at least when you’re an adult and it finally
    makes sense how to multiply two numbers together.
The answers were there all along.

That is love, after all.
The kind a chandelier is holding its breath for.
It’s not like two pronouns dancing is all that unusual.
It’s more how what we hope comes next is never that clear.

Wendy XuKent Shaw's first book, Calenture, was published in 2008. His poems have since appeared in The BelieverPloughshares
Boston Review
,
Cincinnati Review and elsewhere. He is currently an Assistant Professor at West Virginia State University.