The dark steps out of itself and shows
me the submissive knees of lightning
curled in its palm—an idea of electricity
kissing itself alone in a closet.
If I’m ever lost in a cage,
you know which corner
to find me in, peeling
citrus carefully for the thirsty cuts
in my fingertips. Haven’t
you ever loved yourself? You’ll ask.
Just take your mother-shaped hand and
bite down on your neck, carry your body
into a den of snow. But it’s not that
easy, I’ll say while wincing.
You’ll laugh. Now who’s the strong one?
And I’ll clench my hands in anger and
understanding, then unfurl them to find singed feathers.
That’s the sky’s way of saying
it has forged light; it wants to be alone.
That was your way of catching a closing door
and inviting me inside.