It is not in my fingers
I feel my pulse in my breasts and in the glass that holds my wine
it is finite
it will end
but for now
there is still a knock at the door
Pearls in my knit
unraveling
tumbling over my shoulders
as I pull the elastic from my hair
Shadows hold my hand
but do not guide me
I walk across this threshold of my own accord
They ask my name
as if I had one to give
The box in the ground keeps the earth at sway
it would surround me
bring me into it
as one
But now is not that time
I am not that girl
and my heart
beats
in my breast
and in my hands.
