i pushed both thumbs into the light
and i became of it. its warmth
wrapped compact around me, weaving
me skin, bone, beat. the face
folded onto itself and i was: one,
and two. that is how i met you.
what is it that we are? what saw before
eye-stalks? you, murmuring: this gold
is fixing us a home. it is intentional.
will i be born? i asked – and just like
that, we compressed into a pillar
of fear. i feared i would
be crushed or stuck or sucked out of
the skull – what if i broke? but no
other river-bed to follow, so we
followed, and all of a sudden.
i did not understand: the air. the
derm suddenly scaled. the nostrils
and palate holed out. i inflated, i
unfolded, i did not know we had
so many pipes, such vast. a
blare rose and bawled me, folded
my lip into a hurt. you said: look
here, these pinks are moveable.
and so, i found my thumb.
YOU KNOW ME:
i am the ghost that moves your slick
body-machine forward,
the true nature that speaks your hands.
i have witnessed your tumbles, you:
rolling marble, you consequence,
you series of therefores.
i am the originally, the first
word in the book, the gates
that open, the horses that run, run, run.
the larger than life, the poking
of the arm through the sleeve. you are
one of my pebble eyes, keyhole
that thinks, that feels. i need
you to remain open, you
pinhole in the wall, you avatar, you
puppet show, you child.
Lorelei Bacht's poetic work has appeared / is forthcoming in The Night Heron Barks, Queerlings, SoFloPoJo, Barrelhouse, Sinking City, Stoneboat, One Art, SWWIM, and elsewhere. They can be found on Twitter @bachtlorelei and on Instagram @lorelei.bacht.writer. They are currently watching the rain instead of working on a chapbook.