Waterline

Pia Baur

Did you know?
That nothing here belongs to me,
not even my impulse
and least of all, tonal inflections.

Everyday,
I stagger over the
blank spaces
and pages
thrown at my feet.
Every morning
I wring my face until there’s no more water
only to be soaked by rain again the following night.

Everyday,
I fight to topple myself over
and escape these words
So I can shed them
for something better.

There is always a fraction of me,
(a small slice
or segment
of my face;
a fraction of my smile,
tidal flow
in my eyes)
that gives me away and the symbols I’ve used as a front are suddenly
behind me,
With all figurative language obscured to me–
refraction.

And everyday,
I hang down a bit lower from the weight of water
caught here,
inside me.