frost

It’s the jolt of a realization

Followed by the dust settled brushing quiet of understanding 

You knew all along.

The star-stuff

The pinch of blood from the inside

Red on white cotton like a slap

Life filling and filtered 

Through me like an hourglass

Measure it out - forty weeks on the nose. 

The doctors in their white coats

Told me I couldn’t have known so early 

But I felt gold flake in my veins, 

A magnetic field around me.

Your skin gets thicker, freckles rearrange.

 

I felt her in my body in an instant, the smell of creation like 

The sulfur of a struck match. 

 

And I felt him snuff like a dying candle. 

The pull away

The vacancy of an empty chair

Still warm 

In a cold room. 

 

While she was growing he

was shrinking into the sidelines

One step

Two steps closer to the door. 

 

Two things he wouldn’t say

One the cradle and one the grave

 

The suggestion hung over me like an Iowa rain

The anxiety of the thick downpour

No one understands a wordless push like a woman.

Nudging me toward a smaller

And smaller

Door inwards while I grew

Outwards, like

The subtle change in anatomy and architecture can work 

As an inverse archetype if you feel trapped

Enough. 

 

I was growing, ever shifting

He did not

Move, the silent stare

The glassy eyes of non-compromise

The concrete stance

The immobility of man when faced

With the inconvenient. 

 

Pity the man 

Who does not do the killing himself

But will eat anything you place

At the table. 

Laying his dinner with fork and 

Wire hanger. 

Serving veal still red with life

Nose upturned 

He did not see the irony in our position

I the chef

While he just devoured. 

Loathe is the coward. 

Loathe is the fool who cannot 

            Place cause and effect

Loathe is the victim with gloves of 

            Gunpowder

 

And I choked back the tansy

Bled flowers like constellations on the carpet and when 

She came

Palm small like a secret 

I wept for the last thing I would ever hold that 

Saw god’s face. 

 

I buried her in the fall.

Under a persimmon tree. 

Such sour fruit for all the sweetness

I could have claimed to be

For her. In another life

In another world.

In a different

Happy

Home. 

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Per Aspera Ad Astra

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Ode to the Leeches and the Ladybugs