OUT OF ORBIT
It was in Ventnor where we first plotted our escapes
You took off in your dad’s Honda Element
And I boarded that plane.
It was New Years. Berlin. You asked me to be your midnight kiss.
We were crossing the border into Hungary when you told me I should come home with you
and I fell for it.
It was in New Brunswick. I was standing on your porch, knocking on your door,
It was raining and I realized you were no longer home.
It was over the phone when you asked to come visit
I should’ve hung up
And gone back to watching Netflix.
It was in Saint Petersburg.
I was so proud of all the paintings and New Yorker poems on the wall
Yet you asked, “Where is all the furniture?”
We are in Philadelphia
In the Gayborhood
Celebrating my birthday.
You say I should move to New York and be your roommate,
I tell you not to wait.
Doris Zheku is a Philadelphia-based poet and a full-time English/gender studies student at Rutgers-Camden. Born in Atlantic City, New Jersey, and a first generation Albanian-American, Doris moved to France at eighteen and was active in Paris' anglophone open-mic scene before moving back to continue her work in Philadelphia. Her writing was most recently featured in Rewrites, and she is an active member of the Green Street Poetry Workshop.
Humberto Hinojal is a retired teacher who has lived in Mar del Plata, Argentina, since he was born. Married for over forty years, he and his wife, Nidia, were blessed with two children and four grandchildren, their great loves. He enjoys traveling the world with his wife, and his passion is photography.