Ejecta

by Perpetua de Plume

You are drawn from memory; to keep you at arms length I must labor

with your weight, my grasp; how it measures gravity’s strong pull; you matter.

I want to be your object, driven forward; pellere

Do not prevent me, this speed that has no lift, only propulsion.

We are efficient; we require nothing

Like a ballistic pendulum I take measures to buffer

you in my small arms.