Once,
I too ripped the shards of crystal from the skies and plummeted down
headfirst into earth’s atmosphere and thought there’d be a soft landing.
And now here I am learning how to re-introduce myself using old handwriting.
I too, thought I was atlas, or maybe I am a ghost,
my shadow is too big for my body,
my poetry too hot for my mouth.
Who am I, really?
The only living girl at the suicide convention,
I too, thought I could reach into heaven
and come back out in one piece.
the wild goose in the goose chase,
I’ve been detaching from who I was a year ago in hopes of an identity awaking,
when in reality I’ve just been trying to throw up a corpse.
Make room for a new body and its trauma.
Heaven watched me, plummeting down,
moving so fast it was like not moving at all.
Heaven knew there was no rescue mission when it comes to rebirth.
So then I too,
watched heaven tumble down before me,
knowing that if I reached my hand to salvation
I would never want to come back out.
Image Credits: David FloresThis piece is part of our Fall 2021 In-Residence series, Blooming Fiascoes with Ellen Hagan.
