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MissCoral — grief
Published: 2011-05-26 08:56:23 +0000 UTC; Views: 205; Favourites: 0; Downloads: 1
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i.our crepe paper lungs were failing already,
big breaths bottled
into our grey stomachs like iron clasps,
pinching together the lining of our organs
into origami creases and the
methodical twists of gears--
we hold our breath so we can still believe
that we can breathe when we wish to.
ii.
the steeldrum hums into our hollow bones
and falls into folds and
withering words that write our pale little cranes
with their broken wings
and crackling feet,
oily feathers stained with gray rage.
they are silent lies and nothing more
when the steeldrum stops,
because the click-clacks of crane beaks
are much more persistent than that.
iii.
boompulse of big brickhouse whistles
smoke, railroads tire of pull from tracks and
baggage. tired tickets too, traced
with nervous fingers and worried into
tiny birds, all yellow and blue and
white, bled together in
comfortable creases and wrinkles,
assuring ourselves that we are not dreaming,
but this is not bad.
iv.
soon the windows cave into
splintered glass ponds
under tentative feet, and the trains
spout dust and rage to the air,
startling bellows making our eyes and ears
tear.
here is where you found me a crystal in the concrete,
showed me how red mixed with white
so eloquently, how a water wash works
on creased cranes just as well as
canvas.
v.
your breath tastes like diamonds,
like winter air too far up for me to reach,
something more than what I have and am
not sure I want though you always did.
I can almost taste it in the glass
still caught in my hair,
see it through the broken mosaics in my eyes
and I'm wondering where the rest of it went,
wings worried all away,
washed red.
