Poems

Dust

This is all going to be over
And then we can breathe.
Do you feel we are falling forward?
Don’t lean back.
You will smash like china on stone.
I am become white and blue and hairlines of glue
So must you pour the blood back into me?
Better to wrap me in paper, and bury me where I can rest.
Keep me where I cannot hurt you.

I am a magpie
I’ll take your eyes,
And there is more than this that unites us.
I’ve ground you down
You should have dissolved by now.
You stay gritty on my tongue.
I should call this all insoluble
And leave it a lump in my throat.
I can breathe around it.

If you carry the world on your back
How long before it breaks your neck?
We cannot do this by half-measures.
Everyone has evil thoughts,
If we are to be equals we must either share them all or nothing.

It’s going to be a glorious summer.
Let’s pretend we are under a new sky
And there are still pockets of green.
I was a fool to think these bones important.
I am nothing but dust,
And neither are you.

~

This poem has taken me all spring to write, but I feel like I might have finally threaded together everything that’s happened, and drawn a line underneath it. Though I can only kid myself for a second that life is tidy. It may only be glue that’s holding me together, but it’s very good glue. Some of the blood will leak, but not all of it.

I’m not quite sure who I was speaking to, when I wrote this. I slip between the first and second person like they’re water. But if it was anyone in particular, I think it was only someone in my mind, only my mental picture of how they’re supposed to be.

Is in counterintuitive, to try to explain a poem like this? I don’t want to be oblique, and I suppose it would be quite refreshing if everything did not have to mean something.

~

Header: wall painting at the Eden Project in the Tropical Biome.

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