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When the Bleeding Comes
It’s short. Two days of ebb
and flow. That thick swim
the first day, when pain
rifles its hot head,
I refuse the easy bliss of codeine.
It’s something I need to feel,
this fiery sun at my body’s horizon,
setting. The second day, I float,
intangible as flame.
Hurt only crescents me now.
It’s like the abundance
of brilliant fish in a clear pool.
As sentimental as anyone’s sunset snapshot,
this hankering after strollers. I know it.
But how finally to explain that frantic grief
burning over me like a brush fire.
I walk out of those cinders alone,
no hard ache of a child
to bear me back again.
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