BORN TO By Emma Bleker

BORN TO

Watching her,
like spark- plug, undone carousel,
a mountain trapped, screaming,
within an invisible moment,
was unlike

being ten years old,
watching the ballerina
break her ankle in the final
number of the first show.

It’s hard to say if our feet were still
on the ground,
but they ached
for the snapped bone
and for the change,
no longer grace, but something fallen.

Her anger was spectacle, was awe:
a snapped finger
caught aflame,
an ambulance gone off the road,
crashed into the side of your childhood home.

When she called,
she was either singing
or wailing,
and most days,
no one could tell the difference.

It was like
the body of a very small thing
had swallowed the sun
and, imagine, how the sun
would rage to be let out.

Imagine,
how the hands would reach
out, all seared up
from the inside,
to ask something which
could not be asked.

When you are born to your mother,
you are born to the storm;
you are given every mile of this vast thing,
you are given a sister in the top
of high things.
They, too understand
the danger of getting too close
to themselves.

You will watch a day pass
in her eyes, as the sun rises.
And she will be the one who calls you
by the name she has given you.

You will be reminded every day
that it is the name she has given you.

I was taught, young,
that holding must be gentle.
I was taught, young,
that watching fragile things
break
is something
we all must get used to.

Watching her,
was like watching
the last ember carry itself
to the place
where the fire
still bloomed.

By Emma Bleker

Biography:

Emma Bleker is a 20 year old writer working for her English degree while attempting to live a true and convincing life. She has been published, or is forthcoming, in Electric Cereal, Cahoodaloodaling, Persephone’s Daughters, Skylark Review, and Yellow Chair Review. Additionally, she released her first collection of poetry, Here’s Hoping You Never See This, in November of 2015.

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