Last Transit of Venus This Century Draws Stargazers Around the World

a Golden Shovel after Margaret Atwood’s “you fit into me” by Soleil Davíd


High noon & I trek out to a Gangnam playground with you,
sit on a swing, trace larger & larger arcs & you fit
your face over the pinhole projector you made, staring into
the haloed reflection of a sun as yet unblemished. Around me

the cicadas trill, my summer dress flies up as I swing down. I like
us this way, tracing heavenly bodies in enclosed cardboard, a
hushed viewing room. Elsewhere a K-pop song, its hook
a cacophony, a far clangor of golden cymbals going into
its third verse. You don’t hear me make this observation. An
astronomical thing, our yard of silence. Your eye

is still trained downward, the sun content to shine behind you, a
rapt viewer following Venus’ path, as if it were a kind of fish
swimming upward. I leap off, nail the dismount, kneel & hook

both thumbs to the edges of the box, dive my head in, an
astronaut whose gaze waters in the sudden solitude, open
to a pockmark of a planet smudging sun, blurring my eye.



Soleil Davíd’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Arkansas International, Post No Ills, and The Margins, among other journals. Davíd was born and raised in the Philippines and received her B.A. with high distinction in English from the University of California, Berkeley. A VONA/Voices alumna, she has received fellowships from PEN America, Bread Loaf Translators’ Conference, and from Indiana University, Bloomington, where she is currently an MFA candidate in poetry. She is the current Poetry Editor of Indiana Review.