he’s not half-bull
but in that way that every child
consumes his mother
from within—
first in the natural way
that thirst for blood
red light
for pulse of heartdrink in—
this child is taking me
i felt it first as fear
gut-drop, flood-brain panic
that seized control
of every limb
and thought
and heartbeat
made me yearn for pain
or for a way
to take it from his body
like a lead coat
lifted off
i have swum in the bright, clean
water of his love
his face lifted for a kiss
wide open
never doubting it would come
have smelled the sun
upon his skin
tasted his tears, slept
to the rhythm of his breath
my hand riding the moon
of his stomach
but already come the glimpses
of desertion—
at times, a graphic flash
of death imagined
hush of a car passing close
blip at the top
of a staircase
or else a subtler egress, his hand
pushing mine away
head turned
down
a tide withdrawn
each day a test
to see if i will follow
plot the labyrinthine path
carved out for us
give arm and leg
heart and mouth
until i have nothing left
to sustain him
to keep him here
or if i’ll watch him go
walk away
and not look back
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 22, Issue 3.
Rachael Lyon is a poet and translator. Her chapbook, The Normal Heart and How It Works (2011), won the White Eagle Coffee Store Poetry Chapbook Award and was a finalist for the Black River Chapbook Competition. She received a Fulbright grant to Vienna, Austria, for her work translating poetry from German. Her most recent translation project, a book-length collection of contemporary poetry by Irmgard Löschner, ein Baum voll perlgrauer Tauben (2018), was published by Verlag Berger. Her poems have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Southern Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, son, and dog and teaches writing at Penn State.
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