i am obsessed with things in pieces
forever finding my fingers inside the seams
ripping into them because they beg to be open ed up
cracked bathroom tiles and broken eggs
the stuffing of toys falls into my palms like snow
it is what is a thing that haunts me
underneath
why do i chase chaos the way a hummingbird craves sweet?
because i was born with a breastbone wrenched too far apart
because splinters steeple my heart where instead veins should cross
i consider losing myself someplace too far for imagination to follow
a sinkhole just as sudden as whole becomes a hole
and beside myself in bed i wonder at the chasm
if i am trying to find a route inside
or if something else is aching to claw its way out
Rachael Inciarte lives in the Southern California desert. Her poetry has been nominated for the Best of the Net and has appeared or is forthcoming in Juked, Poetry Northwest, Radar Poetry and others. Find her at www.rachaelinciarte.com.
Photo by Dean Hochman on Foter.com / CC BY