DIRGE 7: ablation [1 dancer]

I cut my heart out with a kitchen knife

And threw it in the sea at high tide

because it no longer served me.

I built a boat from gnarled driftwood

to look for it–

but it was plunged in the undertow.

I tread the breachway at low tide

praying to find it

sheathed in hazel seaweed.

Gather it back—

the flopping purple jellyfish

hardly pumping–

let its ventricles dry

in the distant winter sun.

At dusk, I placed it  

in the music box the wind broke.

All through night in hushed tones

I implore it

to twirl the miniature ballerina

splayed.

Come back–

I didn’t mean to run

the car in the garage.

I just might need you–

hinging breath for sound.

Ashamed, I evade the salt pond’s

shimmering mirror

in half-light—

setting the clock back

to another twilight   

when someone held me

against starlight.

Nothing is forever except forever.

Laughter might disappear

the abyss between y 

and z, the ending.

It’s time, finally, to sit

the ghosts down

and tell them everything.

They are afraid for me.

It became so difficult

to breathe.

To find things worth finding.

Then the Book was returned to me.

Crimson stones in my chest

became pages.

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4 Responses to DIRGE 7: ablation [1 dancer]

  1. Upon reading this, I am still catching my breath, holding it, afraid to let go.

  2. Peter says:

    I have not had a chance to catch up yet to read it. I’ve been traveling like the 🌝 moon lately, along with distant nebulae.

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