The Sleeping Pearl (and the World)

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Lily-white baby—

fresh-clotted cloudlets,

splaying, wiggling

across linen drift.


Skin translucent

as shoji,

suffused with sun-glow—

blooming amber,

lit from within.


Then the world

crackled open—

daddy longlegs,

the brute’s leer,

my belly trampled under

his heel—


limbs spindled through

nettles, knotting

into barked-over hide—

calcified

over tender 

pulp.


This hermetic skin—

primitive armour—

sealed out

shadow

and sunbeam alike.


A baby

tucked so deep inside

she forgot

herself,


forgot

time—


until

a wrinkle in sapphire,

a seashell’s sigh

stirred

the comatose pearl—


while I,

cinching my ribs 

against the evil

eye,

hands outstretched—


how do I

catch a falling petal,

palm unfurled—


or let

the light 

seep through

wisp-line fractures

of my soul,

grain by glinting

grain—


until—


pearl

remembering




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