By Doña María - Posted on 20 April 2010

Day One:

Afternoon

I have a fear (irrational, I know) that my sadness will kill me. Despair will surround me, at the center of a circle of dark mass, it will contract upon me, and crushing my rib cage in, the sternum I love, so firm will crack in or out or both and my lungs pierced by shards will pop with a last breath, but no one will hear the pinching, nor see my head distort crackling like dough with air pockets throughout it. My precious skull, no one will hear it, for the density of my despair snuffs me out, quickly. Maybe if someone is near, they will hear faintly a noise, maybe a zip of wind, or a woody clank and think it a rock or branch. I clench my teeth, sitting on a bench on a day which is agreed to be beautiful. Tight, contracting, pulsing in a thick presence from my jaw to the posterior skill, the skull summit, brow, temple, and eyes. I catch myself and relax, only to tighten again at the next distraction.

 

 

 
allelos's picture

Do the angels envy this flesh?

Bleeding, sweaty pits, and burps
Mucous, plaque, and oozing phlegm
Short of breath panic and dilating pupils,
Burning in the brain and spots before your eyes
A million stinging pinpricks as your foot falls asleep
Frantic racing shards of thought as your brain wakes
Racing blood and flushing cheeks insides showing out
Torpor dragging eyelids droop nothing sinking in.
 
Balance if I yes the cold
Pills and stiff are joints the no
Blown wide gnawing feelings dripping
Helpless frozen knotted chest
Gripping throat hand claws for air
Temple throbbing vein ear buzz
Heaves split knuckles spasm
Chafed knees choke
Spit tears salt blood
Paralyzed trembling
Frozen swaying
Insides can’t stay in
Come out.
 
These birthing pains of the soul born to light
This weight of the spirit on the flesh
This corporeal crushing
This fetid filth
Do the angels yearn for it?
Feel the burn for it in their craw
Need it like the sweat stained salty brow
Baked by a merciless sun
Needs the cool and clear and cleansing rain
Need it like the pilgrim weary from his wanders
Worn with wear and crushed with care.
Needs the warm embrace
of loving arms.