If I could…

If I could hold death in my hands
   like a talisman or a toy
   and my vicious anger too
   and our tenderness
If I could hold death in my hands like a toy
   then, maybe, even your loss my dear
      wouldn’t faze me
If you cry out and no one answers,
   or, if you cry out
   and the wrong person answers
The bride has golden hair
   red painted nails
   and luminous brown eyes
In that afternoon
   when you came to make love
   and you were on top
   and you started to cry
did you know that we were finally done?
Did you really want to hurt me?
What did you want?
This is despair:
   to finally throw the rigid crutches down
      only to find that you still can’t walk
   to get up from the wheelchair at last
      without moving
There is a vibrant wreck in my hands
   ever shifting, vibrant,
everything slips through my hands
   everything right
My angel, my terror, my night...

-May 9, 2007-