Gravities & Wings

Crossing wrists of glass
between my tiny proofs
that I am a woman
with a future to feed
and seeing only a living pear
in the glass that places me
in my favorite colorful context,

squirrels pouring from my head
and longing for color from my
fingertips—
I feel two star-shaped punches in my back,
a tossing their painful stardust up my spine,
my legs tremble with an old-age fear,
my ribs wander like the gasses of a supernova.

I always wanted to be an eye of God,
but my dark lips, dimmed by cold and blood,
cannot bring themselves to open for him tonight.
My insides make too many noises,
my conscience screams, my heart whimpers

as if it’s all about to end.
When was the last time I had so metal
serpent to assure me that it was still ringing,
apart from constantly, everywhere,

the very luminescent, reverberating air

of which I breathe?
            I suck it eagerly, through nose
and teeth, feeling the blue and red lights of it
surge through my drifting pieces. Clutch my arms
around this floating stomach, this stomach that can’t

take much of anything anymore. I lower my head,
the back of which is wandering unhinged into clouds
of        green                and                  blue          and I don’t know what they mean.

Bees thread my pillow.
Bees dust my mind.

Bees and one-color birds without lines or shading,
Oriental things. I kissed a white one once upon
a time. And all my times are haunting me.
I look at my photographs and cringe,
prove that I am strong
by stabbing myself in the thighs.

My shoulders have always been as tender
as if my wings were ripped away.

There’s another photograph—
my shoes on the four-plank table,
raw knees in damp blue and green, picturing, believing

believing

this will be the time

and if it’s not, I will keep trying

I’m getting closer to coaxing the beautiful things
from my heart

they’re billowing

they’re inflating

with every beat.

I know it.

Jumping is not the right word for what I was doing.
Leaping almost cuts it. Fighting, not at all. Dooming, yes.
The only words that feel right are
          “trying to fly.”

“I love you.”