rob mclennan

The opposite of harm,

       Pain’s absence, like a footprint in snow
       but the iron had eaten into my flesh
       there was nothing, nothing to record
            Hillary Gravendyck, Harm

Choraled, breathless. Bleach, and honey. Mirror-flat, unspooled. Or simply, pulses. Last. What worries me is this. If you could breathe. Medicinal. The underside, of linen coolness. Bright lights. Blade, a scalpel. Thorned. Reenergize, the empty cells. A stuttered brightness, perilous scene of contact, right this second. Listen, wind. If you could breathe. Words cut excess, list. Into the lungs, absorbed. A cradle. Deep exhale, rust-red. If you could breathe. Grey-crumpled ash, a smear. Estrange. This bandaged, battered montage.

for Hillary Gravendyck, March 1, 1979-May 10, 2014

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