Frozen

It is like that now.

Everything hurts.

My low back.

My inner thighs clamped against each other.

The smell of Ben-Gay in my office

leading me

to places I haven’t touched in years.

How easily broken I am.

And have always been.

The porcelain doll

with the frozen green eyes,

dressed in lace.

My red lips

cursing,

the day.

When did it get so hard?

I want to run,

Mother.

Into the yard

and swing from the trapeze,

the way I did when I was little.

When I could still hang upside down

without throwing up.

When I thought the sun was a jewel

I could keep in my music box.

Legs wide.

Feet tight.

That metal chain seemed to reach the sky

and never let me

fall,

once.

You watched from the side

while you backwashed the pool

or picked up the occasional stick or pinecone,

or yelled at the yardman for not showing up when he was supposed to.

The neighbors’ dogs on the other side of the wooden fence,

barking,

always barking,

while the ants crawl up my dress.