Flatness and my throat
closes up. Nothing between
my galloping heart and the terrible
part of being alive. Stranger
to my self, my safe self,
hidden and clever. My skin
turns transparent, knotted veins
and muscle laid bare
to a biting wind. Time
thickens and sounds become
a handful of pins digging
at my neck. Even the poor
geese, traveling south
are so much useless commotion.
I do not lose my thoughts
to fog and this makes me nervous.
It's unclear who is owed forgiveness.
In my dreams the liquid runs
down my throat and then I wait.
Copyright 2000, Mercedes Lawry
Mercedes Lawry has been publishing poetry for twenty-three years
in such magazines as Fine Madness, Seattle Review, Madison
Review, Hawaii Pacific Review and Switched-on Gutenberg.
She's received an Artist Trust GAP Grant and a residency at Hedgebrook.
She has also published stories for children.
Switched-on Gutenberg/Vol. 4, No. 2