I let it fall.
When it hits
it leaves a mark —
a canyon in fact,
one so deep I’m never going to get
to the bottom of the damage
it’s left behind, but at least
I don’t have to carry it anymore —
God,
it was the size of the sky,
the color of old blood,
and how it stank.
I’ve let it fall
and there’s nothing
on my shoulders now —
my lightened,
lonely shoulders.
when He broke us
our mystery belonging broke
our knowledge
of stone’s tongue broke
our river dreaming broke
river bed opened
and drained itself down
to its bones
when He broke us
we ended almost
couldn’t speak to each other
after war came famine and
our children were taken
they returned much later looking more
like Him
and no tongue to use with us
who were we then
without them
but when He broke us
He did not finish it
we found glue among little stones
we found our old words there
we saw old life in new seams
when He broke us
we saw his self capitalization at last
for what it was
and gently took it from his hands
when he broke us
he began to crack himself
shame lines crazing his face
he tried to wear our clothes
they fell from him
he tried to steal our names
we called them back to us
his children learned to see him
as unnaturally starved though leaning toward obese
they are losing him in their own growth
they feel bad about when he broke us
it is not enough but it’s something
little breakers feeling sad
in their fancy hats
they still don’t see
as stolen property
Dark Matter 