Sunday, June 29, 2014

one little life...

it’s a thin skin holding these bones,
this heart
together –
veins and blood
cellophaned into some incoherent
yet perfectly planned configuration
called Body.

on still nights
the breath is ragged.
sighs rasp.
bones rattle –
not in cupboards -
but in skin.
the heart.
the heart faithfully blinks
like some distant lighthouse
‘cross darkling plains.

it won’t give up,
like a horse’s heart
after the lethal injection.
it won’t.
as long as feet touch earth,
eyes rise to skies,
fingers clutch rain soaked soil
crushing it in determined fists,
grass and glass,
mixing salt into blood and spit,
it shall beat.

sling shoot me again
and again
up and beyond,
numbly amazed,
where i can float
arms spread like wings
dream flying for real.
below, our planet -
a glass blue marble
of infinitesimal fragility,
stars above and below,
turning in the gyre
of space and time.

Part 2: 

would i long to return
to that small dust town
on some forgotten, ragged border
littered with broken hearts
and plastic?
would i?
where the children sleep
lost in dreams?

i see her –
that child angel –
her hair like soft dawn
around her quiet moon cheeks,
half opened rose-bud lips
breathing small clouds
over imaginary lands.

i see him –
my man child sprawled –
like the sun he is,
limbs too long for his bed
and some small trouble
imperceptibly scattered across his brow.

i hover above,
some crazed guardian angel
with beauty on her lips
and wild gardens in her heart,
blowing down
paper thin curled prayers.

in soft, soothing sun-dappled shadows,
laughing children run triumphant,
it seems.
and a plane flies overhead.
here we are
in the world,
which the wind freely shapes
from age to age,
our feet firmly on gravel.

take me.
use me.
love me.
shape me
until the dark quiet hour
of no longer slips through the window.
until it hurts no more.
until the wind has covered
any fragile imprint
of this one interminable life that was,
blown out this one brief breath,
this one little life.
this one little life.


k said...

Oh Janelle. This is breathtaking. Beautiful. Moved me. Thank you.

Amanda said...

i read these words, and think of my almost 17 year old beloved airedale, ambling uncertainly through her days, breathing her ragged breaths and still animated by that lifespark. that power, that ineffable which holds together our bags of bones, which you have captured so stunningly here..

good to see you back.

toomuchaugust said...

*ache* (in all the good ways)

Sarah said...

So glad to read this. So glad. SF

tam said...

took my breath away

tam said...

took my breath away