Sunday, August 24, 2014
OF RIFTS, CLIFFS, AND BRITTLE BONE
Another day and her heart stutters and awakes
the rest of her, and that response—what is it?
Flight or fight? Yes—both most likely,
and this is just one of the things that baffles her.
One of the things for which she has no language
and in the absence of words, her longing for a cliff
grows steadily stronger as awareness of bones
becoming brittle and carriage more rickety by the hour.
She wonders at the rift that has brought her here
to this place, this state, this deplorable condition,
and how she's been able to sustain even a modicum
And not been carted off to a proper asylum, or a cemetery.