The Trembling Thread
on a thread that trembles
untethered from our gauzy womb,
detaching through ashen bits
into the Sun from backyard peach trees
is a dash to the cleansing flame,
a prayer for consumption in the heat,
for liberation from the slow burn.
I am numb
and hungry, 500 miles from home
on the one-way trajectory
since letting go, wind hollowing out
my limbs. The thread is my thread,
droplets from my eyes racing down to you
turning to vapor and dew,
unraveling from my innards where love
digests and twists my gut and longs
for the woven taste of our web of forevers.
on the walls of cold
and darkness, falling from stars
and losing touch with the moon,
night makes the spinnerets ache,
and freeze-dries the teary rise
as the coasting slows
it is to travel the thread
without you. I am retracing
the way I lost my head,
how we cast a line into the sky
and wondered about its echoes.
500 miles and counting.
it goes and goes and goes.
Asha Gowan writes poetry and fiction, practices visual art and music, and enjoys long quiet walks with nature.