Jesica Carson Davis
A HOLIDAY IS A POINT ON A CALENDAR, WHICH IS A CYCLE
after James Davis
Time in a box that you don't notice until you do
the stove has an eye, your hand, the needle
(keep going). There is a silhouette, an outline
someone in the distance attempting attention;
the thud as it lands. Impact reverberates in skeleton.
Today, ignore the difference between outside and in.
A wonder, a break that hovers just out of reach
waiting to be touched. Whose hands are these
that pull from beneath, you forgot to ask.
Basic corporal maintenance becomes a weighted task.
There are scenes you keep filed under snow
and all its meanings. Numbness begins to creep, which is to say
unfeeling. Uncertainty. A flicker at the edges,
a facet of self-preservation. What it means to be done.