Kenny Fries writes of injuries both physical and spiritual, and “openings” which are simultaneously literal and metaphoric.
—
An Opening
I know there are reasons
for the breaking of my skin,
for my blood flowing
from my left ear, scientific
explanations not related to the rush
to catch a plane to take me
far away from piles of unanswered
mail, a house under reconstruction,
the love-induced panic of the last
few days. Somatic explanations for my
waking every night for over seven years—four ,
maybe five, hours after I am asleep. Psycho-
logical interpretations for why I want
every part of you in my mouth and your mouth
all over every part of me. How long
until the blood stops flowing, until
the bright red congeals
and darkens, until the man
sitting next to me will explain away
my blood as an injury much older
than a wound-opening slash, a
sudden, unexpected movement
causing all this color
spilling out of me, the loss
of control that cannot happen
in front of a mirror, in early
morning, no fault of my own.
***
Editor’s Note: Kenny Fries has published with us before. Read “The Canoe Ride.”
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