The planet pulls our bodies through the year. Delivers us, headlong, into the tears in currents. The ebbs and flows of blood in chambers, bombastic and flooded with unremembered names. Neighbors bourne feet first through their door arches. Down the corridors, lonesome and lost. Their voices suture the silence behind them and the little song pulsing its staccato cannot explain the day and the day and the day, like an arm and then another pulled through a sleeve.
Copyright © 2018 by Oliver de la Paz. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 3, 2018, by the Academy of American Poets.