KINTSUGI

By Rosie Aziz

There was no weather

the day we pulled the body from the lake.

The parting of water, silkiness

giving way to slope

of shoulder, the curve of a calf. 

Most of all, I remember her face.

A crazed vase of lines, interlocking.

Creases mapping her cheeks

down to the jut of her collars,

all bound together — a fingerprint.

She had no prints. Her mouth, a whorl

of tissue, elastic skin

cracked and hairless.

Her palms split like stale bread.

And there we stood. Drowning

in circles of gulls, coniferous shadows, 

a rush of pebbles

and the knowledge that this woman

was me. I was her.

The threads of our lives twined

into one another,

yet she was also each of us,

all the same.

We dragged her to the edge,

watching the glossy surface

rupture

as the silt and mud attempted to swallow

all of that emptiness.

#darkpoetsclub