Wicked Wisps

Wicked wisps tangle between
The strands of tall grass
Tangling them into braids and bows
The way my mother used to do
In the living room
With the waltz of daytime tv
Spinning in the background
Smoothing her thumb across
A strip of pale pink ribbon
On my grandmothers’ birthday
Present
Untangling my tangled hair
The wicked wisps bite at
My nose and my toes
The world outside
Stationary and static
Holding its breath
As I tilt my head
The blood beats in my face
‘Nature’s blush’
As my mother would say
Now
Walk the old walk
Talk the old talk
Of the
Bird song
Candy corn
Leaking in-between
Time torn
Rose thorn
Licking at the seams
Of the prey
Of the beast
Halved like an apple
Crunched between my teeth
It is
As flat
As square
As a photograph
Time is not unforgiving
Yet you have been
If there’s time to be left
Or air left to breathe
Let’s let our hair be tangled
In the ever-beating breeze.

Echoes of melancholia follow me to the supermarket, accompanying me in my wander. I drop three lemons into my shopping basket and head to the checkouts. By the time I leave, the sky has stretched its dark maw wide, the moon hanging loosely in its yawning jaws. Tiny stars glint in the shards of broken beer bottles scattered across the pavement, and a plastic tumbleweed drifts before my feet. I hear the echoes again, lulling in my ears. Reminding me of the things I do, of my hollow sight. I never was one to dwell on my limitations or the reach of my mind. Yet I can’t help but feel so futilely restrained by my body, by the span of my interest. I wish I could know everything, foresee everything, float away and watch from beyond.

Walking back home I hardly notice the people around me or the background murmur of traffic. I sit on the edge of my bed, tracing the trails of my past on my leg, swooping in circles and waves, mapping it out. At each turn, I wonder how I ended up here, how each collision with another altered my path, like a flag whipping in the wind. How lucky I am, to be here, right now. While although I can’t reach before or behind myself, for the blinkers sever my sight, I can see the glass sky and stretch the skin on my bones. And so, I stay where I am, bound by what I cannot know, yet built by which I do.