Things that Cut

By Kelly Grace Thomas


We battle these imaginary shadows 

Meet our enemies in dark corners of hourglass gossip.

Dismantle parts of ourselves: eyelashes and collarbone,

 like model airplanes built of glass.

Propellers cough through barbed-wired nights.

Wings that wear frostbite, like a flamingo in snowstorm.

We must fly above these chain linked borders, used our duct tapped second-hand philosophies

to keep us whole.

Our souls, mahogany and oak doors, of well-built grain.

Some leave open.

Some deadbolt with time.

Nevertheless we are all peepholes of promise, that scavengerhunt for the key.

A heart, that whispers in haiku, holding the syllables left in rainy day bank accounts

to taste beneath its tongue.

A hand, seeks a body made of cotton instead instead of cement.

Don't hang this faith on hardness,

remember the things that create instead of cut.

Life is a battle of a bruises and bankrupt battery.

Learn how to take the punches gracefully.

Because a glass heartbeat, no matter how shattered, can still reflect the moon.