Paloma
Paloma

Wind blows my dove-shaped kite into the sun
Quickening away, the string intermittently burns my tensioning-fingered
RP doesn't let me look anywhere towards the light
On father's blindness, on father's bullets, and unspooled intestines
Our surgeries and stolen organs sailing upwards on sinews
Like red ribbons snaking high into the desert sirocco
Snaking high
Also, I taped over its eyes and feet with white duct tape
I was hoping to hide the fact that she is actually just an ugly seagull
Blinding her as we are blinded, binding her as we are bound
This pinioned kite
I just wanted to see something pure gliding upwards
Out of the dirt, into the sky
Out from this dark interior, into the canopic jars of the cloudless beyond
To lessen the gravity of a blackened embryo
The velocity of escape is seven miles a second in my child-heart
My child-heart is too heavy, anyway
Only now and then does she make it high enough to reach the sun
And I can't see that, anyway
My back is always turned to you, my love
My father's blindness is always ahead
And shadowed, anyway, but I thought I glimpsed it
The Holy Spirit