"Phobia"
How can I explain, to fearless people
unfamiliar, why my view distorts
like that from panorama into peephole,
why my voice, all of a sudden, courts
the cavities in my skull, becomes a stowaway—
a barnacle—river-drowned and sun-divorced,
or why, in one deliberate moment, space
implodes into a speck, suspended right
between the blood-drummed eggs I used to say
were eyes? I’ll draw a parallel—tonight,
drive out to the freeway. Bring nerves of steel.
I’ll jump in your path; you’ll see me too late.
Suck a horror of air and knuckle the wheel.
It’s the moment before impact—how do you feel?
© 2006 Laura Polley
Follow this link to comment
|
|
