Slipstream
Slipstream
She drifts into various life forms,
enters unnoticed through separate doors,
assumes the shape of masks,
stained-glass and candles
so she might see herself aflame,
reflect on her ability to grow soft and small,
provide light to fit and fuse harlequin elements,
pieces of persona contoured and shaded.
Avoiding liaisons black with holes,
she shifts into sound waves,
gains access to conversations
clinging to the sides of diphthongs
that drop dangerous and sudden
into hard letters, unsigned, cut short –
each long sound bears with it an uncomfortable silence,
no one able to comment on her painful transitions,
the energy needed to sustain each form.
When time permits,
she covers herself with moss
to soften the violence of flight,
listens for ripples in the atmosphere,
waiting for the proper slipstream
to carry her, back to the place
where a slight turn of her head
altered the course of planets.
Previously published in Quills,Canadian Poetry Magazine