Silverfish, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Silverfish

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

I went downstairs to do laundry.

A silverfish loosened from the shadows,

Crawling along the edges of the floor,

It’s long feelers sweeping the area in front and to the side,

Sensitive to any pivot of the foot.

 

Putting down the basket, I found myself

On hands and knees following it

Behind the dampened fingers of the water pipes

And musty boxes of teaching supplies,

To where it somehow disappeared under the wall.

 

Over the years silverfish have appeared in my life—

Sometimes dropping, like tears,

From the bindings of books,

Sometimes shimmering from out of nowhere

Outside my door.

 

Whenever I see them I remember:

I survived years without being seen,

Only to reappear in the pages of my life

Having lived off the glue that holds me together,

Defying the walls built around my rightful home,

And I thank them, smiling at their ability to flash

In and out of sight whenever they choose.

 

 

 


 




Borderline, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Borderline

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

I live on the borderline.

I live on the edges of your awareness

And of my own.  I survive

Hidden in plain sight, and can,

Without knowing it has happened,

Shimmer in and out of two worlds;

I drift into little sleeps of the mind,

Little trances of sunlit memories,

Right as we are speaking and you

Would never know, and sometimes

The intensity of what I feel

When I am alone—

The brilliance of the darkness,

The keenness of the pain,

Bloom into a way of being

That says: “Death, come to me,

I cannot bear this anymore.”  And then I do—

I bear it some more, and somehow I breathe,

Find a pulse, and where my feet are standing,

And rise, slipping into the present moment,

And into my body, and into you,

And I wonder where I have been

For so long.

 

 

 


 

 

 




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