Grievance by Emily Possehl There is something about a frozen pond That makes me want it pressed against my head Against the nerves, the cells, the thoughts, ablaze To still them all, instant silence breaking The constant mess of heated missile fire There is something about a burning flame That makes me want it pressed against my heart Against the veins, the blood, the black chambers To make it twist and writhe to get away The soft muscle boiling, platelets shrieking Each frantic beat sends out a wisp of smoke But my plight is that the two are reversed: Head is filled with lit matches and paper Heart rests beside a broken window pane Page 16
17 Publizr Home