by

Julie Baber

 

You are my one true love, you are my source
From which all springs, tears and milk,
And from the throat, a sound in shattering crystalline beauty,
From the heart, a silence dressed in velveteen red.

From which all springs, tears and milk,
Is my body, clay thrown on the wheel of fortune.
From the heart, a silence dressed in velveteen red,
Cutting my hands to hold it against the sunlight.

Is my body, clay thrown on the wheel of fortune,
A machine, welded in the sparks of lightning?
Cutting my hands to hold it against the sunlight—
Can it move? Can it live? Can it speak its own name?

A machine, welded in the sparks of lightning,
Moving within my dreams, moving against the atmosphere—
Can it move? Can it live? Can it speak its own name?
Its hand on the small of my back, she is my savior.

Moving within my dreams, moving against the atmosphere,
I feel the darkness, I fear it behind me.
Its hand on the small of my back, she is my savior.
She holds me in her hand, she holds me against the sun.

I feel the darkness, I fear it behind me.
A memory at seven, glancing a tornado out the window—
She holds me in her hand, she holds me against the sun.
I am covered in a canopy of something greater than this.

A memory at seven, glancing a tornado out the window,
My mother packs our clothing; my father pushes a shoe on my foot.
I am covered in a canopy of something greater than this—
We watch as it dissipates, fingers pressed to the glass.

My mother packs our clothing; my father pushes a shoe on my foot.
They are gone now, but specters in my nightmare aquarium.
We watch as it dissipates, fingers pressed to the glass.
I forget my breath is invisible, my lungs do not need to see.

They are gone now, but specters in my nightmare aquarium.
You are my one true love, you are my source.
I forget my breath is invisible, my lungs do not need to see.
And from the throat, a sound in shattering crystalline beauty—