Motor



Motor

Motor nerve. Damage. (How?)
Peripheral. (Vision?) Damaged.

These are the bumps in my road
map. These are criss crosses.
(I carry…) Lacerations lace my back.

I can never go back. (Home.)
Back to the woman before. Back
to not knowing
my own body has limits.
Back to hands that held pens
as swords. As soothing wands.
Soothing. Soothsaying.

Now my mouth doesn’t know what
my shadow is saying. I’m too
far from wellness to hear how my
voice sounded when I believed
confidence was an impenetrable
armor. I count cracks on my
palms. Each dent I
discover is how many times I
was wrong.

Born wrong. Genetic defect.
Inherited confusion. Angelic
inheritance. Our wings are too
big. They fold up within us
and are called kidneys. (This
is what I tell myself.) Stand
still. The disease is at a suffering
standstill. (I can’t be still.)
Spirit moves. I move. In dreams.
Behind my closed eyes.

Where no one can see. Where no
one can see waterfalls washing
me away. Eroding me to dust.

I shall return,
(they tell me.)
To dust I shall
return.


Published by Jennifer Patino

Poet.

One thought on “Motor

Comments are closed.

<span>%d</span> bloggers like this: