Thou Shalt Not Change
your hands are stained red
with blood or fruit I cannot tell
warm liquid dripping from your fingertips
arms weeping from the grape treaders
you smile and your teeth are blackened around the edges
a delicate mold
furling
out
from
your
jaw
and curling down the the lip of the pond
a delicate lace that interworks itself with the moss
twining and twining down to a place
that is suddenly
steep!
to fall, to fall, where does the water press you?
where does the water hold you closest?
where does the water blanket you
in warm, rich, red wonder
if I slipped down
down
down
into the pool
there would be a moment—yes
a moment when—I cannot swim
a moment when I would look up—yes
I would see the grass and mossy bits fade away
I would look directly at the sun
through glassy spectacles
pure vision all around me
I’ve never had 20/20 except in perfectly clear water
someone who’s an ocular specialist—can you tell me why this is so?
why I can see things so much clearer when I’m drowning?
why I have to give up one or the other—breath or sight?
which one I should let go?
there would be a moment—yes
and then fear
and then my hand would grab on to clumps of dirt
and then they would pull out between my fingers
and then they would muddy the water
brownness clouding my eyes
and then—
and then I would see nothing
you’re a bold type of affluent
loping down on your manicured lawns like a duchess
you’re a laughing type—with manicured teeth and nails and smiles
picnic on the pond to survey the
love of the living
to survey the
waters of Hades
that you have to cross—do I have to?—but you’ll never cross them
the security of your own great residence
you’re comfortable in your Ivory Tower—yes.
you look like the Lady of Shalott in that boat
before my mirror cracked from side to side
before the curse came upon me
before I could no longer see—you were there
you were floating on the lake with your boat
paddling with your many berry deserts and custards and grapevines and
things stuffed with
things stuffed with
other things
and your hands.
I remember your hands
my fingernails were stained from the blackberries
but yours were manicured
but they dripped
they dripped like juice from a press
or blood from a body
they dripped
I was looking at you, sadly
you were looking at me, without emotion
and I saw your hands
and that’s when my mirror cracked
go now, to your amber palace—let it be your amber grave
the mosses will grow over it
in another hundred years some fairytale romance won’t involve your reawakening
no one will remember you in another time
no one
oh Lady of Shalott once you float past, the town will forget you
and we will never forgive you
and my bones will look up
through the ivory eye sockets my soul will peer
up, up, through the glassy water—and crack the pond from side to side
