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| photo by Daria Endresen |
Because even heaven broke by this light, this light that now breaks just from my standing. Its blood, this black wedding veil that stretches far from my fingers' reach. Scratches the barest varnish of concrete. What it tries to hide, is beyond me. I could not be the bride and the bride's maid. Be the pressure and the blood. Be the gradient and the breath. Every day I walk down an aisle drowning in pressed flowers, waiting for a groom at the end of this street, this dingy alley, this final vertebra of escalator, to find no one. His body and His blood on that altar curdles and ferments. Lose faith, earn flavor. The soles of my feet could feel the closeness of this land mine. Perhaps in another distance. Not here. In another direction. Not there. A land to claim, to colonize, to terrorize, to divest, digest and hollow out. A land once mined, a land mine'd, might also break. Hold him, hold her, and the entirety of their heat and glacier, and let their sand fall down my arms. Become desert enough to hold me. Stained glass beneath my feet. With a reflection to call a lover.
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