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TRANSFIGURATION BETWEEN THE GRAVES by Carmen Calatayud

depoetry
July 19, 2016
 
I cup the flame in my watery palms.
It doesn't smell like burning skin anymore.

I'm the stone cutter 
who protects me from my grief.
I'm terrified I'll bloom wide open.

I want to take my nerves 
and drag them from the mud, 
prove the moon isn't mechanical
and worm away from pointing fingers
and god-sized lies.

I want to sit in the broken rain
and watch headstones dance and collapse 
and turn into the green smoke
I could never see before.

I want electricity to drench me.
I'm a shaky miracle, gargling fire and water.
I want chaos and beauty in one big bite.

I want to feel the sum of all my lives
and feel the zero before I was born,
because my hands are full of flames
and so empty the palm lines are gone.

I want to sweat without explaining
and hold my death for an instant.

I want to be part of the air that travels
between grave and sky,
that visits this city and brings flowers to it,
that filters the tired bones 
above and below the ground.

I want to float unnoticed 
and swallow myself
and wait for nothing like a saint.

 

To read more poetry by Carmen Calatayud go to www.depoetry.com/poets/201002/carmen_calatayud.html.

 

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