by Jane Eaton Hamilton
Above me you turn like an acrobat
on blue string,
your feet small and accurate.
You are so far away.
My love is not enough to pull you
through the landscaped sky
to this night-wet garden.
It is February.
The bulbs are shooting,
the moon is slipping
dripping stars, hot and sticky.
I am not with you, this simple fact.
Here, I am alone,
climbinb from my underground incubatoin
calling your name
like dewdrop, crocus,
Tonguing the raw tender air.
I miss you. Here and now,
this moment, my body open just one way,
the way of the garden moving towards
morning, towards March,
June. Soon spring, that darling--
Soon you, marking every cell of me.
From, Steam-Cleaning Love (1993)
Jane Eaton Hamilton is the award-winning author of six books, most recently the
Ferro-Grumley nominated collection of short fiction, Hunger. Her stories have
won many prizes, including first prize in the Prism International contest in 1999 and 2003.
She runs Jane Eaton Hamilton Photography in Vancouver, through which she happily
shoots lesbian and gay weddings. More about Jane can be found at
janeeatonhamilton.com or queermarriage.com