The Fulcrum

hours spread through her body like infection. she fits herself into the disease. as well as she can. the autonomy of fishhooks intense with sabotage.

the treason is touch. a clown on the piano to persuade the deaf.

she stands at the center. arms trembling under the weight of emptiness. she stands there in the middle. dwarfed by the enormity of choices she had perceived as so small. isolated by windows she neglected to open. frozen shut.

the life that once gestated inside her. now hard. calcified. dead. necrotic. the days. the months. the years. a continuous series of miscarriages.

an arrow on the ground. dug deeper each time. still unable to guide the blind man.

she crawls toward the center. pivoting wildly against the weight that she drags. stranding herself at the center.

to wait.

for the bridge to collapse.