heady patrol
writhing and gasping under the weight of two hands, rocking
back one forth two, back one
and forth two
mama, i need you to know i’m sorry for who i see looking back at me
i need you to see my own two hands come up grasping and heaving and
rubbing and kneading for breath,
reworking feeling to my red-stained face
only the corners of its eyes stained brown,
a kiss hello and goodbye from each tear to have streamed down my chin
in cascades or in bursting pipes
a man my grandfather’s age is in me
just as much as is a crying child my brother’s age,
blubbering and wailing, like an old man has long forgotten how to
these hands
have done so much for me
scooping and carving, like the flesh of a grapefruit left in the sun
or a sculptor’s clay
like chisels and picks and scalpels taken to my face
like curvature needing to be reshaped
hungry hands, hungry work
and i’m so sorry, mama
i’m holding a crying child in my arms
back three and forth four i rock, arms tight and enfolded around
every fractured bone, every cracked rib, every bit of
charred and calloused and guilted shame
burning a hot white rod through the tangled cradle of my body
i let it enfold me
i let its scalding hands take the wind i breathe from my lungs in
a tightly-clasped fist, a punch to the chest
there is no sound in return
(i know the corners of my eyes will have browned by morning)
but a hitched breath five
and life caught within itself
opaque viper