Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Scared to Touch Ground

The problem is me.
I am the strange play.
The possession.
The steel wool in bed.
The five-year-old who speaks rocks
and scars.
Each day I send myself
to July
to force open the picnic
and write postcards
to your lawn.
I slept last night
for the first time in weeks
and didn’t stop to dream of you.
I was flying a plane
that I couldn’t land,
scared to touch the ground.
But that was yesterday
when the rain came on hard
like a bull.
Today the air is soft and grey
cashmere,
feminine
as a Chinese flower
waiting to be picked.
How could I sit and swoon over you
like fresh bread
and let myself shrink
in so much dampness?
Now is not the time to ponder
or pant.
I must knock down the night.
Everything is possible
with a woman.
So do not be surprised
to see my dolls
nailed up,
because a woman
is untamable
even in death.