For anyone else, the batik lines drawn
across the calendar left mostly days behind. But I said
the pale earth was not the earth I used to walk. It's iced
macadam grew callus. A little more slipped
from me each season. Photographs reeled my understanding
of light. My body cackled an inner fissure, eased
my unease into the pace of my first gait. My posture
rummaged
a grip of spine—serpenting
me lower. I etched my dreams, crunched orderly tracks, stretched
angel's wings as new existence. In silence
I promised myself a type of dying. Until
I became that photograph
and follicles of grief merged
into a dazzling of snow. I knew
this moment as my last collapse. I lay for once
with no one's touch and persisted
on the specificity of dark. I forgot the lapses
of my frozen vows—
when leaving and loving converge as one—
before the contrast faded or grew too wide
BIO: Maureen Alsop's
poems are published or forthcoming in various journals including: 88,
MARGIE, Typo, Cider Press Review, Words and Images, and
Patterson Review. She hosts the Palm Springs Art Museum's poetry
reading series. EMAIL:
maureen_alsop@hotmail.com
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