Pax: A Poem

*This is part of an ongoing series of poetry by Cecilia Ruvinsky*

 

When I disassociate,

tiny hands string coral around my neck,

and they run their shadows over my hills and volcanoes,

until I evaporate into mist.

 

My piano-fingered hands reach out and beg

for something but they do not know what,

and all they receive is my own blood,

smeared in a cross on my chest,

red as oleander.

 

I throw myself off the Suez Canal,

and sacre bleu,

there goes all I thought I wanted,

and all I see is rebirth.

 

Rebirth tastes like plastic.