The Shape of Vulnerability
(Wednesday, March 21, 1353, the Day after the Black Death Ceased)
My despair is behind me.
You cannot see my doctor
so I will tell you,
“He has swaddling, scissors,
and an unhatched egg.”
It’s lonely back there.
Even the ghosts prayed for me
when they were plentiful
and nascent every evening.
You are not a ghost, but I see
behind you. Your family
survivors bow to your mother
who swings a censer of ashes.
You may have love for many
directions as long as you look
to me. Yet, you propose
from two-and-a-half-arms length
between us, as deep as my child,
as if that doctor will sever you.
He may. He may replace your heart
with that fragile egg. If you let me,
I will crack it for you. For us
is the unbound existence,
so delicate and fearless.
For twenty-two years, Tom Holmes was the founding editor and curator of Redactions: Poetry & Poetics. The final issue was released in July 2024. ☹ He is an Ace writer, who teaches at Nashville State Community College (Clarksville). Blog, The Line Break: thelinebreak.wordpress.com/. Twitter: @TheLineBreak