my life in a line:
born. tumbled out of the womb
a weighty, heavy block of a child,
my mother’s tears drying on my cheek
as the cord was cut for the first time,
but not the last. a commemoration.
raised. a mixture of fear and horror
splashed with the taste of joy.
my mother was a good mother. her
arms wrapped around me tight
and I thinned to fit her embrace.
educated. a series of mousetraps
with an ever-shrinking block of Swiss
at the end as smaller and smaller mazes
squeezed my edges and popped out my eyes.
shrinking takes a toll, and after the walls snapped I was
freed. out tumbled my limits and my habits
& I changed & the world stayed the same.
slowly my stomach swelled to hold
a hundred worries. the burden shrinks
and grows with my medication list.
my life in a line.
my life in a series of lines
each stretching longer than the last.
my life in an ever-branching line
with only one reaching further than the others.
all life in a line
approaching a point that expands greater and greater,
nearer and more distant, every second.