Still by Dana

Posted on December 24, 2015 by


I am not fragile, I will not break like a brittle dried thing on impact
No part of me shatters like a glass bowl dropped
I will bruise
But bruises leave no indentations and soon the purple blooms on my arms yellow and fade
I am what doctors call robust
I will withstand a little blood loss
A little violence
But lately there’s a creak to my wrists
An ulcer of rust has mysteriously appeared near my ankle
My lungs fill with an indolent mildew
My walls warp, cave and kiss
I am rotting
I am decomposing in an armor of browning tarnished silver
It started in my spine, burgeoning
A bullet in its nest
Awakening to continue its blunder
I fed it herbs and religion
I gave it a name
I burned it. I starved it
It shivered and smiled and made its home in me
I curl up and wilt
Its fist in my chest like a grudge
I bleed iron, I rust
You plant daffodils where I took my last mechanical breath
They grow poisoned
Gunpowder their pollen
Sulphur their stench
It borrows a hole in me and wears my ribs
We stay still until next spring
Posted in: Still