toy balloon shona kaye

 

There was no fall. 
Only the breaking,
Only the mess;
The shards
like glass, like ice.
Fractured pieces,
that once was whole.
Not Easter eggs,
or toy balloons,
or spinning globes —

Complete like
ripened oranges,
as round, as bright 
as Sun.

The break was slow —
so quiet,
like sock-sheathed feet,
tip-toes on sand.
No invite, no notice;
unannounced entry —
familiar stranger,
an unknown foe —
darkening doorways,
slipping in.

He gave no bow,
offered no name.
Once, I thought I knew it.
He was soundless, intent.
Path well-cut,
goal just set:
Seek and destroy,
Seek and destroy.
He left a seed.
I watered; it grew.

In full form, it towered
like Jack’s beanstalk.
Then there were two of us;
that thing and me.
I named it Doubt. Misery.
Two voices, one mind.
My mind — a shell;
that Easter egg,
Or toy balloon, 
or spinning globe.

The voices:
Mine? His?
One thin, and weak;
The other? Like hell,
like fee-fi-fo.
Clear and sharp,
slicing the hum.
You can’t, it says.
And I listen;
I stop.

That voice? The power…
It is big as air.
More certain than
the rise-fall 
at my breast.
As constant as
the blood-beat 
at my temple.
Unyielding as night;
obstinate as death. 

July 2011

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.