candlelight

The dancing candle flames break into prisms in her brain,
pixilating thoughts shattering in shards of names and
                           places of vague memory. 

Light in its promise of joy has become a cruel trick as well,
making the blaze of hope a terrifying glare, a revealing
                           and purging laser beam.

One day while cooking dinner a curtain descended
over half of her left eye; terrorized she grasped for
                           any beauty her eyes could gather.

Word was made flesh, but now flesh is deconstructing
into broken words and images, tired hips and
                           stretched vocal cords unfit for song.

Her mother lived in darkness in her final years, isolated
with retinas grey as sandstone; the only sights she saw
                           were horrors, nightmares; 

she promised herself that she wouldn’t flail if it happened
to her.  Now she’s trying to gobble up and gulp down
                           the gleam and glow of God.                           

Liz McFadzean 

“There is power in being robbed
& still choosing to dance.”          Amanda Gorman