(Content Warnings: this poem includes imagery that references eating disorders)
shuttle across the warp of highway threads
that lead to your capsule. even the city a cloth of
arteries, green medians apron, and the bias of
curved lanes seam themselves into raiment. born on
my kitchen strings, you wrapped your arms around
my ambulating legs like blue knots. the city’s hearts
syncopate: loud thud, quiet ceasing, new detectable
beep. embouteillage, and that’s where we are, where
we’re travelling to, to the bottleneck, to the firefly
flickering under glass, to the light trick that blues
veins. like intestines, a cloverleaf interchange folds
over itself, processes cars like starches, proteins the
mouth and esophagus pylon-block, though the
on-ramps are clear. driving a sweetness on an open
road, like a holiday. this is not a holiday. it’s a
marathon, we're told, as we race, redefine battle:
blue fingernails, car under blue sky, blue hospital
curtains, this patchwork quilted anticipation,
embroidered uncertainty, appliquéd blanket that
rests on your shivering shoulders, turquoise-striped
and weighted. i am forever driving, blue hands, blue
lungs, steering down congestive avenues like
frosted weaves on glass that etch your name on me,
below the surface, in the deepest layer of dermis.
how could i have known you chewed on sand? how
could i have known your skin already bore mosaics
of blue?
