Sara June Woods
WARM MORNING (SECOND SHARD)
The second shard of morning looked
like a fallen angel & I mended her
wings and kept her in a shoebox
with air-holes & fed her drops of
yogurt & celery pieces until
one day the shoebox was empty
and there was a note left behind.
The note said that I had helped her greatly,
but her god was a jealous god
& she was sorry for what was
about to happen. It said I was
a machine that could be broken
& I had parts I couldn’t see,
that could be held in a wrench
& twisted hard & her language
slipped off the page somewhere
while describing the effects
of what I was about to experience,
like meaning was something you
could just take scissors to.
I folded the note until it was the
size of a quarter & took the filet
knife from the kitchen. I cut a deep
slit in my thigh & buried the note
& sewed it shut with dental floss
& prayed to that god only to know
where he stopped & I began.