Quiver

I start with a quiver

I start trying to forget how deeply it makes my heart skip

My brain on a high wire

Since the beginning of any summer, I’ve been unable to catch my breath in the hot, humid air

It breaks my brain, splitting in two, I can’t speak in the heavy heat without almost sobbing

The atmosphere crushing my speech, cutting it apart like cold butter with a burning hot knife

Quicker, quiver, I shiver

Like it’s the middle of winter

in past summers, it feels like I was closing up shop

Hiding from everything like I was a refugee

My thoughts get sliced by my heart

I needed to find that separation from church and state,

Heart and mind,

Trauma and memory

Heavy quivers that change my chemistry

Its halts my speech when I try to remain confident turning into sludge

If Regina Spektor could sing my blues, it would be, “Quiver, Quiiiver… quiver, ah-haaaa…”

Like a sliced moon, hanging there in the dreaming, crushing sky

I wake up like a new creature

I drive by opening the windows to the hot summer wind,

My hand outside the window, I don’t quiver anymore

Am I starting to feel safe? Is it really ok? Can I breathe without a quiver?

The quiver halts in my brain to my lips

I can sing my blues just fine on my own.