Love Poem With Some Elementary Biochemistry

xime silva

Here’s what I have to offer: the careful
symmetry of carbon. My body—made of the same 

recycled things, held together, like this, 
by its own easy gravity. Even here, as you walk 

me home (thank you) & the half-
moon hides like a kid behind 

the drydocked boat, our bodies
are constantly making themselves. 

Yes, we have hands & eyelids & the open
wounds of our mouths. We have names 

(thank you) & faces (thank you) & many words 
for the shape our bodies make when holding 

on to each other. But we are, mostly, 
water. We’re water’s way of moving 

about, of listening to the shuffle of wet 
shoes on our way to class, of kissing

(thank you) before the sun scrapes
the day off the asphalt. Never

mind our names, then. These names
swallow themselves. Never mind these

tulips (thank you) & their petals 
(thank you) & please never mind my body’s 

relentless ability to contain itself
within itself. We are small things made 

of smaller things. Yes, they tremble.
And so we tremble.

Xime Silva is a poet from Mexico City. Her work has been published in The Albion Review and Best American High School Writing, and has been recognized by the Poetry Society of America, the Alliance for Young Artists and Writers, among others. Xime is doing well. She’ll attend Columbia University in the fall.