The Science of Parting & Chemistry Lesson | poetry by Andrew Analore

The Science of Parting

“Your poems 
get the science 
wrong,” she says.

“You write
about gravity, 
attraction, bodies
coming together.
Distance 
is the way 
of things:
The expansion
of the universe
is accelerating
and galaxies are
moving away 
from each other.”

So, I’ll start
this time with a metaphor
built for vastness: 
Your leaving is the night’s 
last brush of moonlight, coating
the ocean’s lonely heart in silver. 

But I’ll end up with something 
closer: The two of us, 
at the park early, 
waiting for the Perseids.

Chemistry Lesson 

“Read me the names,” she says.
“I will tell you the symbols.”

Hydrogen, H. Carbon, C.  Iron, Fe. Silver, Ag,
Neon, Ne. Beryllium, Be. Cobalt, Co. Oxygen, O.

Over the rim of a textbook, I watch as she remembers.
The white light of a desk lamp bathes her face and 
her long fingers press the end of a pencil to her lips. 

I want to ask her to again explain
Tuesday’s lecture on covalent bonds. 

“Keep going,” she says. 
 
Nitrogen, N. Phosphorus, Ph. Magnesium, Mg.
Chromium, Cr. Nickel, Ni. Gold, Au. Platinum, Pt.

Suddenly, she looks at me 
her blue eyes like strong magnets
I become an electron, orbiting. 

As her arms wrap around me, we 
both understand:  love
 is the essential element. 

Together, we take its weight.