paroxysm
there was everywhere the harrowed wheat—
crude, rough, and muddy. the edema atop my foot,
blood the body re-absorbing over a hard month,
and I could hardly cram inside—my swollen tarsal
bone—into my boot. I hobbled, downtrodden,
downtown to the offices that paid me. I took care
and delicate footfalls, hastening as best I could, in my
needlepoint jacket, goosepimples flecking the neck—
my spirit having long felt eviscerated, carved out with
a mellon baller. I missed bliss and would have it again:
mellocremes and whiskey sour, a full Hunter’s moon at
Equinox, a tendril of thistle outside the municipal building,
Harvest Cheddar SunChips, pink Nikes, three clear meteorites
seen during the Perseids just out of city limits, out in some
serious woods. a hex key, a cowl-neck sweater, yellow onion
and canned pumpkin purée and heavy whipping cream. a chunk
of fluorite made into an obelisk, friendly barn cats, luscious
names of fish bait: nightcrawlers and beemoth and chicken
liver. The family of flowers named Gerbera, buttered rum soap,
vintage Bakelite bracelets, polenta on sandwich bread. I limped
against uneven terrain, shouting no more, no more of me, no more of me
will be taken! My spirit was as lumber—dried, seasoned, sawed into
crude forms I never once wanted for it. I quit the office that paid
me. I held hands with myself, bought a straw basket to lift any solid.
I dispersed, at long last, into the wheat crop—spirited, returned,
the injury scarcely there, behind me, out of earshot.
Note: The city of Bloomington, Indiana was founded in 1818 and was described in its first years as “crude, rough, and muddy.” Citation: “Bloomington Indiana History – State & County History.” History & Heritage, Visit Bloomington, 2018, www.visitbloomington.com/