Sex Education

First I find your hip & then
the canopy opens above me
deciduous & sweet. Somewhere
in the dark, a telescope sharpens
its eye on the lip of the big
dipper & the ranger behind it
is a soundless shadow, a blur
adjusting the traffic of arms 
aimed at the sky. I don’t try
to make out his instructions; 
Polaris has never been a myth
to me. O horizon in my hair
& canteen as my pillow, I slip
the sky’s soft pulse out 
of focus. An orb weaver strings 
the campfire’s smolder
between branches of sycamore, 
a new canon of constellations
ambered in air. I trace them 
with my eyes—curve & bow 
& hilt—then with my hands: over 
my body, then over yours. 

Deaf, genderqueer poet Meg Day is the author of Last Psalm at Sea Level (Barrow Street, 2014), winner of the Publishing Triangle’s Audre Lorde Award. A recipient of the Amy Lowell Poetry Travelling Scholarship and an NEA Fellowship in Poetry, Day’s recent work can be found in Best American Poetry 2020 & The New York Times. Day is Assistant Professor of English & Creative Writing at Franklin & Marshall College. www.megday.com