July 11, 2023

breaking the machinery

These warped bridges we call promises. 
The rough sinew of regret. The place we empty 
out of sorrow. The too-tight grip on the little bird 
of our longing. The songs kept locked in. 
The apology we make out of our own largeness. 

Imagine breaking the machinery.

This vascular body, swimming the length of its tributaries. 
The soft creases of self-forgiveness. The sheen of grief 
in sunlight. The cage, exposed. That air. The riot of love. 
Imagine breaking as repair. Imagine rust the color of new planets. 

Maya SteinComment