“Deep breath.
One step at a time.”
my friend gently wrote
from Belize.
I imagined:
from a tilted chair,
with her back
to the sun,
and a girl
at her feet.

I have no lungs.
My feet are lead.
I may be
in the wrong body.
I may be
in the wrong soul.
I may be living
the wrong life.
I may be wrong
about you and me.

There is a giant
electro-magnet
in my closet that
hums for the iron
in my blood.
I’ve opened the door.
It also wants the salt
from my eyes.
But that is all
I have left.

 
July, 2011