Sarah Rose Nordgren
Dark body dropping through fearsome space
You are the lump in my ribcage
Whole and stony as the Coliseum
Water so thick, so salty packs you in
Your skin like a rubber dove
Would move under the hand without landing anywhere
All there is is nothing
All our selves without a core, continuous
White potato heavy with dirt
It hurts to watch it sinking
In the cold wash bucket
A man swimming with rocks in his pockets
Thinking down I go
This life of holy proportion
Moment beginning the rollercoaster dive
The light almost reaching you, windowless
An empty house sliding into the gulf at night
Vacated by its lovers
Something you didn’t expect poured out of you
But your heart is a stolen carriage
Your veins are avenues
Your face cages your food
Our crime toward you was jealousy
O to be a mansion steering itself