scab
January 29, 2012
The skin started to thicken like a scab over the left side of my chest — my heart — when I pushed you away. I saw “New Fire” and felt your presence there, I feel it everywhere. I feel it in my hair, feel you in my lips when I speak. Wake and move knowing I walked away from you, shoved you from my fear where I should have named it aloud. And what I could not take into my mouth before, I would swallow now, maybe not even stop to taste. A love too simple, too universal to digest then; after taking some in, I refused your medicine.
I am a young sorceress, love, so young I cannot even imagine the power in my hands, my unexpressed need. How I used words to invite and then reject you. What I see in you of myself, I could not bear to look. As my marred vision clears, I want you here, call you with my hands to bring you close again.
I went to see you last night, knocked at your door. No answer came. Now I wait for the Universe’s hand to move. This morning I touched the place where I felt the scab before — it’s gone. Almost completely. The skin smooth again, the way it was when we met. When I was beautiful to you and corrected you: it’s yourself, mostly, that you are seeing. When you look at me, you make me more beautiful. To be seen by you. I told you.
Dark power, Kali Ma, you destroy so beautifully, death so lively you can’t be contained, somehow you overfill every glass. Dramatic. Your vibration is a mystery: both high and low. Your wand whose lightning does annihilate too much. Now I know you. Flavor too strong to forget after this last bitterness.
The universe reassembles herself, reordered according to the present, the singular instant of now. This one guarantee. Where the kiss arises, even if erased thereafter.
© 2012 Tahminah Zaman
