The Wound

And when the flower opens its wound?

And when the wound is mortal, fanned out

like makeup spilled from a purse?

And it's always your one and only wound,

the one you keep coming back to?

And the purse was stolen from an old lady

who died before it could be returned?

And there was absolutely nothing of interest

in the purse anyway?

And the purse was a symbol, as was the empty bus

and the cat carcass in the gutter and everything else

you saw that day?

And in every other way the day was normal?

And the famous scholar made many statements of truth

that couldn't touch you?

And you longed for the days you were so easily touched?

And went home and became even more obsessed

with the wound until everything in the house was related

to the wound and your destiny was the wound

was being with it forever and forever

letting it consume you completely your body

shedding itself like so much of nothing

and the wound opening into something

else entirely some part of your mind that

had always essentially known it as home?

Source: Arena (Cleveland State University Press, 2020)