There are 807 Miles Between the Ordinary and Sublime
by Alison Myers
Too much sweet vanilla cream
in a cold brew, or simple syrup
in a craft cocktail, implies the bitter of the sublime
is sublimated, numbed by a honeyed something:
give me no saccharine panacea to blunt the ache of days,
and no ambrosial mist over the miles. It's immeasurable,
and deep, infinitely dividing.
Zeno knows the number:
of cells we've held between two hands
or shoulders or naked arms;
between the hum of a love
for words and the earthquake
of a nervous shaking leg;
the infinite divinity in seconds and spaces between parts
and heartbeats which approach, but never reach, one.
Alison Myers teaches high school English by day and yoga by night. She currently lives in Cherry Hill, NJ, with two dogs and an overgrown garden. Her work has appeared in Ender’s World, SWWIM Every Day, trampset, and in great weather for MEDIA’s Suitcase of Chrysanthemums.