For your eyes. Only.
Hard as it is to accept. They mean to take you away from me.
But this time, I think, I can let you go.
Though my heart will drain. And my soul dissolve.
(Do we still possess hearts? I cannot remember.)
Far beyond the crooked maze of tree limbs above, I see the gauzy nebula, the home that awaits, hovering between the leaves like a fuzzy, tempting fruit.
I never learned the character of stars. The chemistry of celestial wizards. No. My realm expanded inward, toward the cells and their universe in miniature – golgi bodies, mitochondria, chromosomes. I followed this path because my spirit insisted.
And because I believed with desperate passion, as did my mother, that the solution to our survival, the very key to our destiny lay – hidden and unmapped – inside the crevices within us.
But now, cradled in the dark, my cheeks awash in moonlight and stinging tears, I wonder if I should have looked up instead of in when I was young and carving my future. Perhaps then I would be able to follow you. Perhaps then my throat would not be so tight. My lungs not so stiff with sorrow.
Then again. Maybe we would never have met.
From out of nowhere you arrived. Fully formed. Drawing an untapped love from me with a hummingbird’s thirst. Insistent. Insatiable. And in this strange and sudden way, I became a mother, satisfied forever to fill your need.
Before morning awakens, and they come to tear you from my arms yet a second time, let me tell you a story. The story of how we arrived here in the first place. How we, and everything, came to be.
And almost never were.
(to be continued)
Copyright © 2015 Kristen Wolf. All rights reserved.
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