‘Between’ – a poem to be read slowly

Competing strands of gravity
swim within me.
Tensions like tides
pull and ply.

What would a scream do?
A little, lilting vibration in the air –
would that strengthen my pillars?
Never.
And it never has been.

All that is left-
to writhe.
To writhe and float
in the furnace of anxiety.
To bend and shake –
the audience will love the dance.

To buckle.

To buckle.
and quiver.
and go silent.

And then,
when the mourners have gladly dried their little tears,
and all have concluded –
‘he is dead’
‘he is gone’
‘our little man has left us’
‘but we can keep going,’ –
then, when silence has descended
upon the few passions that burned for me

I will unfold.
light and flowers.
and a child with sapphire eyes.