Breadcrumb #617

CYNTHIA J. ROMÁN-CABRERA

I saw something that made
me wonder if there was ever a way
to be this still—
Does someone stop before they drown?

**

I slept on the edge
of circles,
the good of pure
on the small of my reflection.
My voice, a fear of 
conviction, a chase 
in pieces entangled,
water like satin sheets
before the drowning,
cleansing,
filling me like a still bath. 

Veins pulse grain, 
beat orotund,
a deceit in the light breeze
of mornings’ ballad,
bearing silence. 

 Stars like arms strewn space,
grasp this and that—
all created,
of goddesses kneeling
before concrete air, 
in awe of body,
self-destruction at bay.

• • •