Glass Shattered Stars
by Marisa Siegel
Digging nails into palm, palm into fist. Instead,
to sit and laugh, to whittle away at pretense
and to stop counting breaths
keeping time in a desk drawer
Compartments and patience. Because the circle but also the line. And if I can catch myself spinning, the unexpected brightness might not collapse.
Windows and glass shattered stars around my fist. Standing on the porch staring blankly at my hand.
Look up up up in passing what begins in destruction comes from ruin holds an evil bottoming out.
Of fated import. A shared darkness surrounds, allows afterimage.
If I am the line. Pretending a clear intention a definitive turn two tangible points. Because I am not a thing to be pitied.