"Translations of Love" by Fatima Lim-Wilson
Translations of Love
by Fatima Lim-Wilson
Close to drowning, that is happiness.
Each breath knives, keeps us alive.
Meteorlike, rushing through the tunnel's
Mouth, joy chases its own crescendo.
We glorify in conclusions
Always finding the next to the last page,
Undrawn curtains.
Reckless as infants discovering fire,
Wild mushrooms, the lure of heights,
We grow fangs, relearn the rhythm
Of a crawl. The years tumble,
Disarray of lost numbers. We count
Backwards to the day we burned
Maps. No one can rescue us.
We rely on each other's eyes.
Our island drifts farther, evading
Search lights. Angry waves carve
Us into arrows, singing bones. We read
In the dark, unchaining chapters,
Thumbing pages writing themselves
From out of our flesh, shared pulse.
by Fatima Lim-Wilson
Close to drowning, that is happiness.
Each breath knives, keeps us alive.
Meteorlike, rushing through the tunnel's
Mouth, joy chases its own crescendo.
We glorify in conclusions
Always finding the next to the last page,
Undrawn curtains.
Reckless as infants discovering fire,
Wild mushrooms, the lure of heights,
We grow fangs, relearn the rhythm
Of a crawl. The years tumble,
Disarray of lost numbers. We count
Backwards to the day we burned
Maps. No one can rescue us.
We rely on each other's eyes.
Our island drifts farther, evading
Search lights. Angry waves carve
Us into arrows, singing bones. We read
In the dark, unchaining chapters,
Thumbing pages writing themselves
From out of our flesh, shared pulse.