Tuesday poem #174 : Kristina Drake : Line of Trembling

Aspens, a trembling curtain shimmering beyond the kitchen

window, between my dishes and the precise house

next door – I am whaching                                (oh Emily, oh Anne –

This sleight of truth is not a trick

of light; patches glinting

in the mirror, not reflection –

the insides peek out.

At my temple.

Around my eyes. Also my armpits and groin.

I am fading, vaguely,

at the edges of my mouth -- words blanche, pale,

unformed and unvoiced.

The truth places, paces there

as if it must – must -- show me

the trembling inside.

I am shimmering imperceptibly

Into an aspen creature at the edge of –

Truth? – This border

changed, barely, visible. It has a name – I am not

unnamed, only shedding pigment,

baring discoveries and nerves. Am I (over) exposed?

A photograph, captured. These parts

where courage failed or grew or became

less – if only in certain (uncertain) light. Paling,

I tilt my head to see.

Kristina Drake writes and edits in the wilderness around Hawkesbury, Ontario. Lately, she has been distracted. Her poems have previously appeared in Carte Blanche, Soliloquies and Yalla!, and as an above/ground press broadside.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan