Uranus Retrograde



Call her, Summer interrupted

her bright dances held at bay

even her harvest moon,  this sallow

orange ball, like a burnt shoulder

in this misty night

her sun, a red, swollen eye at evening

sliding down the Western sky

this air is heavy and smells like burning wood

smells of the fires burning in Canada and Eastern Washington

forests like torches, the fire in this scarlet sun

so that I feel like this is an alien planet

not verdant, lush August, with her

potent green skirts, clouds ready to rain

to wash away every Summer memory

things we put away, like clothes we won't

wear until next year, when things warm again

but now, this dreamy sky of white

making it feel like time itself

is holding its breath.




James Stansberry is a genderqueer/bi/poly writer living in Seattle with two amazing cats, and also a cancer survivor, hoping to get a collection of poems, 'Talking With God and Cats', that deals with his battle with breast cancer, using medical cannabis, the surgery that eventually happened, and everything that happened after the surgery, published.  He is an activist, a slam poet, and claims a mixed heritage of African-American/Cherokee/Blackfoot and loves glitter.

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