Iron Skin [early April 2016]

i will carry them with me into the empty summer.
this armor was forged in the awakening light,
painted with our blue and gold.
when the sun rises and the doors are closed and my brothers and sisters have gone to the winds,
the thunderstorms roll in and i have found a place to keep my soul.
there is no tear in this armor, not yet
no burst of fire can break my new iron
and i see the world from behind colored glass
and live inside ancestral metal.
my gloves brush the dusty earth and my hands are clean, washed by my captain’s blood,
the only thing i can truly take with me, held safe inside this skin and skeleton.
the armor weighs on my shoulders, steady heaviness, like the unwavering sunlight.
the helmet is silent. there is no one to send their voices over invisible waves to crackle inside this plated skull.
but the wash and everpresent hum of my own heartbeat echoes.

i have no attackers, not yet
and not the kind who are made afraid
by the symbol of my visor, the slanted eyes
that reveal nothing yet say: warrior inside.
this is the space between wars.
the money burns a hole in my pockets when i walk, making a scraping noise
but it means nothing now.

if i took the helmet off i might escape
into the wind like the seeds of a dandelion
and the plates would crumple, clattering,
as i lost myself the way i lost them.

as silence falls i see that my hiding place was not safe.
my captain always told me -
my daughter - i am all in all.
when the sands have blown away and life is no more and the universe slowly grinds to a close,
i will yet be.
- but i would not understand. i said -
my father - you were never here.
i rest my weary soul on what i know
on the hands that held me
and the shoulders painted with my tears.
the eyes that see me and understand and where the same spark glimmers,
that is where i will be safe. -
but he held up a clock and the numbers were running backward.

i saw the end coming,
and i built this armor out of a fallen star.
at night the pages burned to fuel the forge
and the light of the looming summertide lit my worktable.
i felt like i was falling while i hammered and the sparks burned my forearms.
the plates as hard as bone -
(they hold me together.
that’s what they are for.
the helmet hides my face, wherein i
see and am not seen.)
a second ribcage to protect my heart. (one is not enough.)
i must learn to carry home with me
because i see now that no one stays.
father, captain - i turned away
and now i suffer.
you guide my hand as i build a shell
downsized to hold only one
instead of twenty-seven.
it is rough and hurried and the sun glimmers off it like a pockmarked meteorite.
but i will learn. i imagine that You smile as i stand, swaying under the added weight
and Your smile is a little sad.
but we both know
this is a step. as i take a step forward into the baking sand.
my glove scrapes the glaring visor as i try to catch my breath.
i look upward, the back of the helmet scrapes my pack,
the sun is dimmed by the mask.
and i start to walk and don’t look back.
not for a long while.
i am learning.
i can carry You with me.
(or is it Thee who carries me?)
no one else.
so i hide my skin with this iron
and hold myself together
until i am home.

–

personal