How deep is deep enough
until I reach the bent rafters
of my own ribcage? I test
the extent of my dimensions. This—
this is an effort of pencil checks,
measuring-tape & desperation.
Behind the drywall of sternum
& knucklebone, I am certain
that the same thing that aches
in the attic is what keeps it
standing. How far down is it?
That place I’m afraid to name.
That place where God lives.
I’m pressing up against the door—
an angry thumb against a tooth,
snapped loose in my mouth.
How long have I been straining
at the concrete slab of my own
foundations, barely making a scratch?
Again—again, I’ve been asking God
for permission to uproot my life
like a weed in the asphalt, to split
the stem of my spine & let me sleep.
Again—again, he keeps telling me no.
by Ian Williams
from Ecotheo Review
July 24, 2018