by Juanita Rey

How I look at him
as if my eyes are trained binoculars,
magnifying the scar above his right eye,
the rose tattoo on his neck.

Or lasers,
healing what he doesn’t know he suffers from.

Other times,
I grunt
like this is the age of the woolly mammoth.

Or I get so heavenly inside,
I’m up there
landscaping the clouds.

Looking –
it’s just a fragment of the time we spend together.
But not a crumb.
A fragment.
Part of something whole.

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Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Mixed Mag, The Mantle, and The Art of Everyone.