Lisa Summe

I wonder the distance

between me & the moon, not in miles but in gays,
like how many homos would it take to build a bridge

of queers long enough to get there & there’s a lot
of hand holding in this idea, or not in miles but in feelings, 

my ankles swollen with the weight of the internet
events. On a Sunday evening my bow tie is perfectly 

symmetrical & no one at the zoom wedding 
knows I’m in sweats. The two person choir

sings Ed Sheeran & Adele from behind
N95s at the bride’s mother’s house & I wonder

when anyone will be able to grind on anyone
again in public, the real sanctity of a wedding. 

There is no tech support besides 
the groom. Out the window the moon 

is full & bright & for a second everything 
is a trophy. My period is late & my girlfriend 

would make a great father. She’s perfect
to marry but we’re poly. I find myself

bored by the wedding & also I find myself 
sobbing at the vows, zoom could not

ruin them like I thought it could. It’s like I believe
in everything & nothing. Couldn’t wait to get off

the video call but not shit else on the calendar. 
I take off my tie then eat all the bread. 

I go to the store. I buy a pomegranate 
to have something to take my time with.