Cheyenne L. Black
THE ABRASION OF A SWELL
"Physical pain does not simply resist
language but actively destroys it."
In me, there is an upwind sandbar, a spit,
jutting out from the island's land,
with lapping, waving,
pain dissolving my feet to silt.
Worn down shores of the working me that once remembered
the right words, the me that I was before the pain
eroded the inside of my skin. Before I
moved sandcastles from one beach to another
with counted spoons
* * *
A BROKEN SONNET FOR T10/11
Do you mind if we pray
For you? Lay on hands, too?
If you drink the milk of four young
Thai coconuts, you'll stand right up.
What happened? Can you still—
You know? Well, can you?
Seriously, it's not that bad
Right? I mean, there are ramps
Everywhere. Tell me
This won't happen to me,
That it was an accident and I am safe—
Your wife looks burdened because that must be
The worst thing that ever might happen
to me. Or my