Broken. Not in but open.
The needled air unthreads the thread
the fabric you’ve worn
all your life.
Fire travels through your addictions
no longer fighting among themselves.
Should, want, would—all done.
Control is not what you have.
What you have is panic,
rapture, as you watch
your own disembowelment.
It is not his fault. Or yours.
It is your compass that breaks
—the mind’s borders invaded
by a nameless galaxy.
And suddenly, briefly,
you hold in your arms
every planet that ever named itself
or was named
and your eyes swallow the sky
whole.
First published in “Even this Grey Dawn” (Canadian Unitarian Council 2010) and read at the “Love Poems & Chocolate Celebration” at The Island Book Shoppe February 13, 2011.
© Janet Vickers 2010