Noël Bella Merriam
OUT OF BODY
first time I was seven and it was a quiet night in the desert
that was when I learned to freeze don’t speak to survive
he broke into our home with a gun
the needle pulls the threads together daisy chain of interlocked stitches
looping lines form vines
like the honeysuckle growing in the forbidden garden
where we paused to sip the nectar
we left town so fast headed east I never had a chance to fully understand
we didn’t speak about it faint echoes later in my sisters’ silent screams
here is where I watched snow dancing delicate through the window
in the darkness silver light
cuts into a frozen river bare trees like people
with many hands
second time four years later a horrific accident
how am I still alive the sight of so many stitches when I bathe
sends me soaring towards the ceiling
sunlight skimming tall grass in texas
knitting earth to sky with jagged strings of fire
wind lifts long hair from the back of my neck I dance
in tiger lily dreams
third time eight years on I was so happy for a date with him
exploring city outskirts under dark stars he takes without asking I orbit loose above
a gun tucked under my head
the sun walks fast to the edges
of time lets the moon sing alone most nights
run your hand over the soft knots holding the bits together
celebrate their strength
reading a random magazine quiz ten years after I see the question
have you been date raped at first I think no then realize yes
shocked ache of the unseen gun hard beneath my skull
the blanket is thin and ripped
in places worn from so many years of covering me
rain runs down the window glass as I contemplate
the task of mending