Drum beats. I saw your face in the mirror. I was terrified. You flew off before I could reach your feathers. The pattering grew louder and again I fell away. Consumed by sound. Two slaps across the face and down I went. The rocks dug in and never came out. Shutters closed and the lights came on. The heat rose and we started coughing. You couldn't see. I came and pressed against your chest until your heart calmed down. I woke up that morning to your eyes looking down at me. A dream? I wanted to ask if you were part of it. But I was too afraid to lose you. We were driving- I never liked driving but I was too tired to complain. I sat beside you and I could tell. Another dream I wanted to wake up from. Even with you there. maybe especially with me there. That time. Orange day lilies, yellow forsythia, white chrysanthemums, black roses, blue forget-me-nots I never would. you pass through the years and wonder if the recognition will disappear after awhile...terrified and expectant. A lamb led to inevitable slaughter. It's not that I want this. I fight the whole time. But one day, I fear for that one day.
They use to steal your shoes when you kicked them off in the grass. You would walk home with torn up feet. Prize in hand. As if it didn't matter if you had caught them or not. They could never break you. I don't have a lot of shoes to steal. I get a lot of fingers pointed accusingly at my bare feet. And so I walk a mile away from them and then walk a million more, hoping the blood trail will dry up eventually and they won't be able to follow me and take my feet away.
It's a quick tap on the back and you realize the trap has been set for years. I never wanted to come here. I just couldn't avoid it. There are secrets in these hallways. They echo in the middle of the night, bounding across the floor and casting shadows on the carpet. The walls will crack some day from all this weight, like vertebrae of the heart stacked up and squeezed under a burden far too heavy. It's not tangible, but they'll break all the same.
Blackbird, the thunderstorms have returned. Nothing is more exciting than the terrible power held within those bolts of lightning. You always did like your spirituality to be more concrete. Something that could crack your head open.
It took me a while to realize how I could lay down and the cars would drive across me just the same. With a crosswalk for a shirt and a heart as flat as a highway there was no other way for it to end. I imagined the heat from the metal brushing by my face, how the rubber tires would feel rolling across my body, not even big enough to be a speedbump or feel like a pothole. Just a little thump like a frost heave.
There were scribbles on the walls. Dark shadows running every which way as if a giant tree were casting its play of silouhettes across the cement. And then I began to register the words. "I painted his body as if he were a God. I cared for him as if he were my own blood. You fail to see the beauty I have spent my entire life searching for." There is no other way to love a man than to be eaten alive. One can feel joy or pain or angst or obsession but none of these are so important as consumed. Because then, then it may be worth it. Once someone has a bite of your heart they can't exactly put it back. And it's not like you would ever ask. It's weird really, because I tried so hard to say no and now I can't even say no to myself. One day I will wake up and realize that all of these nibbles have added up and all that's left is one edge that has hidden the damage this entire time. Not that it's all poison. Sometimes you can do better with less. But I know I will never get it back. And that scares me. You get one life and one heart to go with it. I just wish I had a bit more to show for my troubles.
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