Three Little Glimpses

                 

                    ONE

I took all your language and I put

it in a box.  In another room I may

not have needed to go back again

but here I am right now and I

cannot stop looking for what I lost.

Something you said or did not say,

something I did or did not do and I

was once again spinning myself

inside out.  You visit me but you

are mute; I make you stay where I

put you.  Break out of the box, I 

want to say, and come violently after

me, but I never open my mouth.  

                    TWO

Because you would never do that, she 

answered.  I had been trying to make

sense and understand how he could have

done what he did.  Still, I wandered 

into my questions, fervent, dogged, 

asunder.  Rita had a dream when she was

pregnant: her pregnant belly was a clear

plastic bubble and inside she saw her

redhaired baby boy.  When I look inside myself,

everything is lime green and disintegrating

fast.  A disease is eating me away but

I cannot name it or make sense of it

or understand.  Some days, you let the

burden down and decide to not look

back.  Tomorrow you may repent of

your freedom.  The load will be 

waiting for your familiar form, your

returning.

                    THREE

see me captured in the moment
it all came rushing forth.  this body
doubled over toward earth.  one hand
held my body across my waist; it kept
me whole, and the right hand reached 

down for a lissome blade.  it was
summer.  barefoot i reached down and
my universe fell out onto the lawn.  i

watched it spill out and coat each

slender green with clear liquid glass,
each blade now enclosed in a hardened

sheath.  upon my curled back i felt

the stars press down in clusters of

reproach but still i did not turn.