... and Trembling

After Kierkegaard

 

He draws the blood out of my limbs

like handkerchiefs pulled from a sleeve.

He presses the tint out of my skin.

I watch the pigment slowly leave

 

Like handkerchiefs pulled from a sleeve,

Deep cries are knotted in my throat.

I watch the pigment slowly leave,

a distant song, a fading note.

 

Deep cries are knotted in my throat

In one raised hand, he holds the knife.

A distant song, a fading note

In darkness there will be no light.

 

In one raised hand, he holds the knife.

There is no bush; I am the ram.

In darkness there will be no light:

Bound to this cold marble slab.

 

There is no bush; I am the ram.

He presses the tint out of my skin

Bound to this cold marble slab

He draws the blood out of my limbs.

Published online January 01 2011.


The Open Issue cover image

This piece was published in ‘The Open Issue,’ the Winter 2011 issue of CV2.

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