August 5, 2020KR OnlinePoetry


True: despair has been my sail
for twenty-two years, give or take. I tell
myself the blood must be taken
for the test, the hero still
a hero with or without a tragic
backstory. The origin of this grief
is a constellation wherein I’m
more interested in the burning
than the shape the stars make.
Let the plasma swim around itself.
I let the despair sit for a moment
and learn not to wish it away
so quickly. It will go or it won’t.
I accept not the despair
but the patience. Together
they have moved me to this island
where the sun beams. Thing is:
I hate the sun. My nose peels
and I make a small sculpture
from the sheets and flakes. On
the mainland, little victories: I watch
the sky’s bisexual lighting over
the building tops. With a friend
I place the pieces of a chessboard
puzzle together: frame-first, of course.
I tell the dentist when it hurts.
I lay in a warm tub on my back
with knees and feet above
the water. True: a position to make
love but it is just me, my head only
half under. I listen to my pulse,
remove my clasped hands from
behind my skull, let the body above
the neck float, breathe breathe. True:
a risk, but here I trust myself. I do.