Ring

I took a piece of chalk and drew a circle around my body.

In that ring, I engraved all the names of my loved ones

who are alive—until the only space left was under my feet.

Outside the circle, names of ones I lost.

We are eternal prey to the circle’s energy

looking to decongest its body from our own.

What I have is the beginning—in my hand,

it is what I can wield. Rubbing my palms on the ground

the white line of the circle became a mixture

of chalk and dirt on my skin—still the two worlds

stayed separated after my ritual collapsing their boundaries.

I unrolled my prayer mat on the melting snow,

sat facing a frozen lake, imagining the sun probing through

the ice, 4 inches thick. A man idling in the middle,

his machine drilling a wound in the solidified water,

ice fishing. I looked on, waiting for his hook

to find a trout. What if this is how death finds us—

by luring us with what we desire?