National Poetry Month Day 2: “Aubade” by Ruben Quesada

By

Aubade

Antelucent, we lie—your body moons against mine. Earlier,
I stoked sweat on your neck in the humming of this light.
In the dark I listen, now resigned you mumble
about the arms of a pinyon pine, say it points to a falling star
against the bruised pool of sky. We hear the grackles crackle
above a church lot. Then headlights shine on your face
splitting your face, listless lips, half-open eyes—staring out
you wait for the occult wreckage of night to vanish from this world
holding out until its final moment, until you fall asleep
and get lost. Your body light like tulle carried off
by a strong current—taken from me—as I helix in the light.

-Ruben Quesada


From time to time, The Rumpus publishes new poems. Check out this multimedia collection of poetry we've published. More from this author →