And the question you will have to answer again and again: if the self abducts the self, who is left behind?

                                  —Kate Schmitt, Singing Bones

1.

Silence

             an unconditional sigh

     an empty corral

               ~

A life, when pressed,

                  will turn

into a flare.

                     You don’t believe this.       

                    But if the moths gathered

on our door

                      aren’t convincing

               ~

My mother’s disorder

                     becomes mine

I wait for understanding

                             convinced my body

is more conviction

                  than hers

               ~

Memory

       of the mind

       is different

              than memory

of the body—

                              grayer,

more hesitant.

               ~

I pull the furniture

               from the living room

into the bedroom,

                               insist we live

only there.        I pack

             our books and dishes,

                 stack the boxes in front

of the windows.

                    They are a warning.

               ~

A voice       grating       bald

               I can’t get away 

         from the inner climb down

               ~

For days          I am       sleepless       soul-hungry

               ~

Light lies

                in the way

water is contradiction:

      holding

                  to the shape

of its container

                            spilling out

       when there is too much

               to hide.

               ~

On a hike at Fall Creek Falls,

          we came upon

a rattlesnake—

                          coiled and ready

            to strike.        You pulled me

            back,        stopped me

from stepping into danger.

I have always wanted

                     to save someone.

               ~

It is the same in every room

     a hole        spreading

           on the floor

     waiting for me to step inside

2.

             Truth is a series

of excuses—       inaccuracies

               poured into moon-

shaped molds,

                         emptied and filled

again and again.

               ~

Is this my voice

                merciless(ful)

               ~

              Each part of the body

           holds recognition.

                        The legs stake,     the back

folds,        the lungs shiver.        What is

let loose resembles a riot

    of worn desire,      a burst

                                of desperation.

               ~

When I can’t sleep           

       I tell stories

   In the stories      I am released

               ~

We are malleable,

            shape-shifters.

But daybreak can fool us

into thinking everything

             will be okay.

               ~

Sound carries

memory,

                 a rip current

                 pulling the wrecked

vessel of identity.

                               A murmur

sets it off:

                   silence,       then

      the whisper.

               ~

A voice       holds me 

               to the night

        sky       I see the gaps

     and folds of the universe

               ~

When I can’t sleep,

   the stories drain me,        the characters

              always the same:       

a meteor shower,      a mountainside

cabin           (lonely

       and unimportant).

                 This is longing.      To fly,

       to abandon this body.

 3.

Diagnosis:

                  seeds scattered across 

the ground,

                     swelling

from the evening rain.

               ~

I stay inside,        pretend

others are characters,       

            pull aside the thick

kitchen curtains,

                              see sky

blue,        a lily

                   waiting

          to be cut.

               ~

My teeth

loosen,

              shift,        fly

out.        I dream

          this every night,

                   a drop

       in conviction.

                   I must figure out

who I am.

4.

                In a photo of us,

     smiling and trying to hide 

the day’s heat,

                 a bird

   nearly out of frame

        hems the sky.

              To fly must be

like tearing

             the pitch

     from a thick night.

                  The air was still

that day,

         comfortless.

               ~

    Balance 

                  is fantasy,

  one world

     and another,

an opportunity:

      Trust myself.

               Don’t trust myself.

               ~

I swore I wouldn’t turn

   into her,       yet here I am

      holding two tomatoes

from my own yard, asking

        if they are good enough.       

               ~ 

A voice       torn      

              indifferent one day

              the next       root-bound

               ~

One day you will ask

     remember when the neighbor’s

dogs fought?        I will answer no.

          You will recreate the story

    of how the dogs’ jaws locked together

for half an hour, how the neighbor

couldn’t break them apart

          despite shooting

      a gun in the air,

          spraying them with water.

     I will ask where were we,

      why didn’t we do something?

                   And this you may not

   remember:        we were inside,

          the music loud,        singing 

to each other,        unpacking

           the boxes of books and dishes.

               ~

Don’t trust my memory.

             It’s filled with gaps filled

      with dreams.        Lights

      wave.        I am not

              who I thought I would be.

               ~

       I have always wanted

to be rescued,        but

             redemption is moon- 

          heavy,        the way music rests

           in memory—

              fractured, perpetual.        If we hear it

to its end, 

           the mind

finds a new piece

       to cling to.

               ~

There were boats once,

                   shaped like mouths

that were pulled deeper,

           bluer.        All I could see

                was what I’d missed

and the dim lamps

           glowing

                in the water.