After the blow,
but before its thunderous sound,
the air between her face and his knuckles
becomes an empty space where only god can reside.

He says "Run. Don't run. It doesn't matter."
Indifference is his only benediction.
In my sister's blood, I see the universe reflected.
Hope is a folly that stars don't know.
They burn and then die.
The anger in her eyes burns and then dies.
She runs until she can't,
never really sensing what's behind her.

This is the flaw of human existence,
the ability to experience pain
but never understand it.
We know when to fight
and when to cower but never why.

In the bedroom we share, we never pray.
Despite our longing for our father's death,
we know there is no god, real or imagined, who will claim him.
The voice in the dark only offers us a spoon,
leaving us to decide whose grave we'll dig with it.
I imagine the taste in my mouth is that of dirt,
but it could just as easily be useless shame.
Asleep, we dream of the earth settling over us,
a stillness that cannot be interrupted by fear.

Sometimes, I get a glimpse of the monster behind me.
I stop fleeing and turn to look at it,
and then, with an ease I was born to,
I use my fists to break its face.
In the space between us, only god lives.
He tells me "Run. Don't run. It doesn't matter."
I can fight or I can cower, but I'll never know why.

08/22/2016

Posted on 08/22/2016
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair