Quinn Franzen
Binary Star
One year married and the belt of Orion
dimly unshackles, our backs press
into the slatted dock. The clockwork universe
died in the nineteen-teens, but still, at 1am sharp,
over the elms — a tangerine!
See the pocked moon rise as proof
against all mass. There’s a scorpion in the sky
that makes me secretive and cruel, a bull
that makes you stubborn. The brightest star tonight
is a planet where, under intense heat and pressure,
we complete our taxes in a timely fashion.
Close one eye and the universe shifts an inch
to the right. Close the other and we’ll never arrive,
not there, not together. In parallax your hand
over mine like ripples around stone. The wristwatch
strikes twice, and far suns fall from their orbits
just as predicted by certain solemn luminaries.
Briefly, this is fucked. There’s a game we hate
but play anyway for tradition’s sake. Near the end,
in order to win, you have to shout “one” in Spanish.
Quinn is an O’ahu-raised actor, poet, and educator. He has poems published or forthcoming in POETRY, Pleiades, The Adroit Journal, Split Lip, Bat City, Barrelhouse, and elsewhere. A Poetry Editor at Bear Review, he received his MFA from the Bennington Writing Seminars. He has received support from the Saltonstall Foundation, Tin House, and Community of Writers. His acting work can be seen on TV, on- and off-Broadway, and in regional theaters across the country. Quinn lives in Brooklyn.
Artwork: “title” by Daniel Lurie
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