CALL ME BELOVED

I should have been made of paper, instead
I’m just the paleness and fragility, cut corners
and folds – couldn’t I be unscrolled tapestry?
Or uncovered, a new Rosetta Stone, wrap wise
words around my body like ivy – then, maybe
someday I could be found, too, desired for
being the long-sought answer, storyteller –
this constellation of freckles and scars
could be holy, powerful, a new Zodiac –
I’ll tell you everything you want to hear, just
hold me close to you – read me to find those
apocrypha, give me all the terrors you hold –
I could have been ready. I should have known,
I could have moved the stars, the very fate
written into my skin. Could’ve written better
stories, some happier endings – did you know
there are safe footfalls across grief? I clung
chest-heaving on each one while I swam blind
across the chasm, I could have shown the way
so nobody else has to fall in – I’ve mapped these
dead-still waters, like when I was younger –
I collected shells, dug up treasures to dry out
in the sun, desperate to prove how hidden things
can be beautiful, too ashamed to drag out any
treasures inside me, hiding an opalescent underbelly
of oil slick rainbow scales underneath secrets and
shame – I should have been a hermit crab, instead.
I should have been an oracle – shackle me and
let me breathe in the smoke, I’ll face madness,
my jaw is clenched, anyway, I’ll bear the grin –
I should be given one shot to defy the fates
and stare down the gods; I could burn –
ignite the tapestry, fuel for the final push,
one last hearty bellow into the furnace and
I am brilliance, I am the first day, I am the last,
I am alchemy, transmuting blistering light
into memory – I’d be gone
but I’d win.