Megan Burns

Carriage

in life’s ride, i mean riddle
say what you mean, girl
it’s a trick: We think words
hold parts of what we are

i travel slick barriers
i think the poem is a deliberate
not seeing clearly

[he sd: you don’t like pictures with people]

or else life itself blurry, in the line
held by the edges, detailed
image, you fence it or else perched metal balance
the hoofing you get here: it takes your breath away

there isn’t any humble to betting
i could make my way out of the maze
i had to believe i knew why i was here
if it try to make the poem speak for me
i fail                        do you know what a doll is
it’s a container, a mask you can trust
empty nothing of what i have skirted
calling it life, i am its particles, its design
it is quiet              to love an object is safe

the word that defines my childhood
is neglect, a silence weighted inside me.
i take the toy and put it into focus.
this must be what care is.
in that danger of what another
withholds, i can’t find anything
i like.

the poem says, here is the safety
of everything: the horse harbors innocence.
you will find it scavenged in places
that bend wood, the metal scooped
like angel wings           inside a frame, a fraction
of us spooling out into how we translate. the poem
pretends to speak but is actually listening.

the truth of how i feel about us has never
changed. we just haven’t reached the part
of the story where you can hear me.
i don’t ever know who in this
life wants to hear it. i write thousands
of lines, and it’s never sharp. i return
thinking: this time. this time, i will not be ridden
down, this time i will be able to steer it right.

Photo credit: Todd White
IG: @hollarrr
website: www.hollarrr.com