There is a kind of pressure in humans to take what is most beloved to them and smash it.
– Anne Carson
If my despair shatters
could I hurt you: Wobble neck
snapped. In my hands. I break you
into scream… ease does not wash me,
rock water begins its pound:
Swim, I tell myself, Swim—
but deep currents switch,
drag me beyond
the glassy waves—
Come back—come, back…
Touch: freckle beneath left eye.
Smell: milk across your breath.