Atlas
Sweat pools in oceans,
schools of golden fish weave
through the slopes and valleys
of my muscles, the hollow arches
of my bones––searching.
Orion steps across my spine.
A drakon coils around my daughters’ breath.
One lone light, my poor, glinting daughter
always reaching-falling, needing me but
I am trapped.
My family is ocean-wrought, yet
I have not seen the tides in decades.
They form within the shallows
of my back,
forever straining, forever young.
Grandfather cries for me,
an angry child pounding
at my back, screaming
to be put down, and I am
a parent for the first time.
My little daughters never
screamed.
They loved me.
Love me.
They dot the space
above my shoulders and is it not my duty
to cradle and to hold, to lift them as high
as I can but
I can’t.
Even gods grow old
Even stars forget.
Slowly, I kneel.
The world is a ruckus
far away.
I heave the sky
upon one shoulder and
set it down
The world forgets to breathe.
So I breathe
for the first time and–
let go.
& Echo
My voice bends around the wind, My voice bends around
I watch him dance him,
there, where the stars kiss kisses
the ground, he smiles the ground,
the curve of the moon, the moon
hair ripples like waves ripples
stilled. still
Moonlight drags my shadow, my shadow
bruises the river, bruises
stars, scrape trembling hands trembling stars,
across its wounds, bending wounds
into the shape of the boy, the boy
head held high, held
I refuse to learn how to swim. to swim, I––
Water worships me, presses kisses worship
upon my mouth. I bend closer, bend
kneel to the river’s glass altar kneel
I cannot look away. look
I reach–– reach
he shatters under my fingers. shatter
The truth breaks break
open like a mirror, and I drown drown
in what I made. in
you.