sometimes resilience is knowing when to break
paper thin membranes darken to space vacuum black,
just before being left behind by
the monarch that tore through them.
plastic is snapped, allowing the glow chemicals to join—
incandescent illumination
searing lightning bright against the night.
mazel tov sits on the tongues of loved ones
until after the gently wrapped glass
splinters under practiced feet.
the heart of a dying man cannot be reached with cpr alone,
ribs must snap to the rhythm of Staying Alive
to send blood to organs.
why is it then that I want to be healed without fissures,
without birthing pains, without
violence.
staircases of sunshine
follow fairy footprints in the mud
to a little corner garden
bees are just awaking with a buzz,
high from the idea of a Sunday
let their frenzy lead up
staircases of sunshine
bioluminescent jellyfish
light is created by prismatic cilia
in 7th grade, I cared so hard,
wished on stars to be accepted
that beat to scatter color.
I didn’t fit,
in the social strata there were only two kids below me,
carnivores, they snag their meals,
a super religious kid, who was fine
no one teased her, because she didn’t
care, and Dina
with tentacles.
Dina was short,
Dina had a pronounced limp,
students called her an animal
made dog noises at her.
bottom dwellers.
we became close,
note exchanging, locker combo knowing,
friends, and then
we weren’t and I was mad;
predator
I don’t even remember what we fought about,
cannibalistic
I barked at Dina in the halls.
I am bravest when I cry
maybe the reason that I love
the beach early morning is because
it tastes of bravery.
soft sand sucking at bare feet,
sandpipers following each diminishing wave
each breath falling over one another,
receding,
saltwater stinging raw sensitive skin where eyelids meet.
for in tears or in ocean
lies that tenderness,
that acknowledgment that
things still matter, that
life still matters,
that I still matter.
imitation of still water
long ago I accepted
that I’m not everyone’s cup of tea,
that I’d be impossible to drink out of,
that the tea would taste of tepid water left in the microwave.
long ago I learned
that my circus isn’t anyone else’s,
that all the monkeys were mine,
that I didn’t want to perform for the crowds.
long ago I worked out
that I don’t march to a different beat;
that my personal drummer resigned
that I kept stepping on his heels.
long ago I figured
that I won’t end up finding my ducks,
that they won’t ever be in a row,
that I’ll never know why people want them like that anyway.
long ago I discovered
that my mold wasn’t broken after being used
that it wasn’t discarded because I was so extraordinary,
that I just wasn’t paying attention and my hand knocked it over.
these things became little jokes hiding in my pockets;
every once in a while, I’d shift my weight,
and they would dig into me funny.
I would stretch my back high or pretend to crack my spine and
jiggle them just right,
so they no longer jabbed at me.
today I sit in imitation of still water,
hoping that they forget I exist because
all it takes to hurt is one wisp of a twitch.
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