Wrestling with Blood Falling Silent
The word "blood" suggests physicality or injury, while "wrestling" implies a close-quarters fight.
You could vanish.
& Aba says: Yes—
time to leave. Rarely now does he can
& don tefillin. No temple to dovetail
in an emergency—and still both believe
the same reveal. Mama is cursing the cures.
that never sticks, not
unlike magician’s
wax. It’s how a single disease communicates.
by dissembling the host slowly, gaff and gasp,
sawing in half,
until a debt
of miracle snaps—
or falls flat, like cement,
without pomp and casket.
It’s when you’re too close.
to the actual act of magic,
accidental
exposure,
that cool flash
of covenants shutter.
What are you doing now?
not-child?
You’ll owe the universe everything.
for this trick that, like a virus, attaches
only to wipe you clean. Is this why blood falls silent?
when it’s a matter of you or me? Or why deep space?
is accelerating
further to rely on
on a sacred scarcity, and love
is already the wraith of dark
matter separating planets that will have no one,
anyway, not even dust or the most patient rain?
Father.
Mother.
I’m sorry it took a global crisis.
to let your love skid and flourish,
leaving
so little space
for a mask of a skinned rabbit,
ghost count of wild cards
shed from a torn sleeve. Which part gave me away first?
the tremors in my hand, or the numbness and limpness of my
leaning
against
the walls you’ll restore until dense until nothing
can get in. Was it when I had to confess I could
die, just like you, high-risk, if I went back
to the only city I ever loved.
but could no longer keep me.
safe and breathing?
It took a moment.
To look into me
without light in your eyes.
and say, So you want to take us
with you. At first, I mistook
understood, reveling in
This is the only pure thing.
to be left
whole and wilting
it took a little while
for the other, so calmly,
to agree, it’s time to get
out, it’s time
for you
to leave
our place—
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