SHARDING

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Empoweress, empress, high priestess

of the seas, let me be

delicate.

I want to feel the wind,

not fight it.

 

A trepid breath lies

pickled in a jar sealed

with no holes in the lid

 

no word, song, cry or curse

can escape

the turning, turning, turning

grind against glass

like fingers around the beads

of a restless prayer, or regrets

trapped beneath the tongue.

 

In the spaces between teeth,

a springtime zephyr is rising

 

while in the jar

a storm is gently breaking.

 

I want to feel fragile,

become sharp

as I shatter.

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*First published in Covert Literary Magazine, June 2022.

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