Barbara Berg

ATOMS CARVED IN WOOD AND POLISHED TO A SHINE

Something I’ve started, but you can tell the hands are reaching out, a muted gesture.
When I learned to crawl, a wooden gate barred me from building blocks I wanted to grasp so desperately.
I see the bones of a child—protruding—not quite the right word, since they’re bound by the skin.
In physics: a barrier, one potential energy higher than another, a force on all sides.
Today, the sky is blue and the sun is warm.
An empty space surrounds me; the air grows stiff; breath traps in my throat.

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