Earthquakes

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

When you love everything this much, heartbreak is just another day of the week

on smoky porches the stories never quiet,

I fight them with chardonnay,

look hard into silent spaces that leave room for ghosts to roam.

Every playground has its bullies

And recess breaks like storm clouds, waiting to  release blue thunder.  

Air has an accent of questions only children know the answers to.

I tell myself that pride keeps the second-guessing at bay.

That the fragile hand stitched plan of things to come is just another piece

of  a home I haven’t yet unpacked.

This jigsaw of fighting harder or walking away is a last meal

leaves me craving one more moment

of a course where I try my case.

I want to baggage check the anger, pay silence its fee

to stop bankrupting my certainty

the nine circles are only seasons

shaking the earth, where fault lines form.

I bow to these fractures that start from the soil and spread to the sea.