Cracked
When you say smile, I hear footsteps.
When you say love, I think shortened breath,
an inner tube swelling in the abdomen,
and the magic of tension and elasticity.
Decision, indecision. Bursting
points. The child’s hand clenching
a pin. I tell myself this, too,
will pass, that life’s gifts
balance hurt with pleasure. One
kiss lands in softness. Another twists
into bruises and cracked ribs. Two
nights in intensive care, perpetual
nerve-shredding. When you say quiet,
I see headstones. When you say
please, I feel fingers at my throat.
“Cracked” first appeared in Noble Gas Quarterly. I’m grateful to the Noble Gas team for taking this piece.
O at the Edges 
Haunting!
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Thank you, VJ. And that photo is creepy!
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It sure is.
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This is a fantastic poem!
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Thanks very much, Jennifer.
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So haunting indeed! The Gabby Petito case sprang to mind when I read the two kinds of kisses, fingers at my throat- though I know you wrote this long before. Provocative, good one, Bob!
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I wrote this with an old friend in mind. I, like so many other, had no idea that she was being abused. Very sad.
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That is sad indeed but so common, the not knowing. You did a great job in this poem, bringing such things to light💙
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Uncomfortably beautiful and penetratingly good.
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Thanks very much, Grove.
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Eeeek
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Oh, the lives some people live (or are forced to live)!
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This poem leaves me stumped but intrigued. That magic of tension and elasticity – I can relate, can sense my own hand clenching something rigid. So far that sensation has been emotional, not cause for intensive care!
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Let’s keep intensive care situations to a minimum!
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So very ouch
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Yes. Very, very ouch!
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