Encroachment by Gabriel Waite

April 6, 2022

POEM TITLE: Encroachment POET NAME: Gabriel Waite POEM: Months later, the sun crept back into the yard. Blushed the hedge tips. Wind tucked away the dark corners, and I dreamed you came back too. We dazzled together in the steadfast morning, flighty as night-creatures, we spread seeds, haunches ticking, and you said, “Why don’t we get a drink?” You said, “You have the most beautiful neck,” while I quartered the beautiful orange. It beaded in a bowl by the carafe, counting on hunger. “Gorgeous,” you said, often, of the annuals in January, crooked as fingers, while the late winter sun took three cracks at the egg shell sky and fumbled the meal. We knew the least when we wanted the most, and during the extravagance of survival. I showed you the raspberry cane spiders, nervous as hens. “What are you doing later?” You wanted to know. The little web house blusters in the wind, would be beautiful in the right light. Would be beautiful if you came over. Garden looks round-eyed from under the hedge, from the webby topsoil, pretty as a doe. I eat the oranges on the porch, I take them to bed. In the evening I try mindfulness, try to quarter the present to bring you a plateful, a spoonful, a gorgeous little slice. A recess of shadow and sun. END OF POEM. CREDITS AND BIO: Copyright © Gabriel Waite Gabriel Waite is a trans/queer artist, spoken word performer, and writer living on the unceded territories of the Lekwungen in Victoria, BC.