The Stars Align and I Fall Through Year After Year

by | Aug 6, 2019 | Issue Ten, Poetry

I float.            Here is the ocean        blue as the sky.                I float and Dana, you know this emergency.              And emergency burns red in me like this luxury carpet      these papered walls            like this gown to wear to their old-fashioned gala.        I turn a corner.        Disappear on purpose.     

I ask for records.               Maybe a map.            But I know I’ve sailed past the edge of the world.            Dana,               you chase down the details in a windowless office maze         and when the elevator doors close        here is your answer.          Here is a kiss.                 I crawl past the dust to carry

both ice and sea.              It falls down my shoulders and past the threshold.     What they don’t understand:      I am a weapon and I don’t need permission.         Shout to Heaven.      How many times can we say      No, sir, you’re out of line       before it loses all meaning?          Scully,                when you find the answer

it will be as empty as this giant boat        abandoned and dead          and still you hide from the Smoking Man.        Hold your breath.        I turn a corner.       Wear that ballgown.      Feel the blood hot inside myself.       In this timeline      you are the scientist and I am the hammer.                  Let’s turn on the radio

and throw those coordinates to the sky.                  He can save his own ass.            This is how we rescue ourselves          wet and in the dark         how we revel in these cobwebs.      I turn a corner.           We open dusty drapes and dance. So help me I will hold in my hands everything we’ve been denied.        I turn.

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