Sometimes you check out your social media quickly, and you see the patterns. The pattern I noticed the last couple weeks was fractures- lives, marriages, minds, society. A poem occured. It distracted me from being productive for a bit. It let me avoid thinking about my To Do list. But it was me working out something for myself and I refuse to become invisible.
Watching the Fractures Pixie Bruner I am watching the fractures. Some are a month old, some are unfolding in real time. I know the ice is always thin. A kind word can be a cudgel on the wrong day. A drive-by-shooting in the dining room from mouths loaded with armor-piercing rounds. The wrong angle, a roomful of hard eggshells, become a straight-razor. I am watching the fractures. They are the worst trick ever The tablecloth pulled right out from beneath the settings. Everything is in its place, just snap the wrist just-so. I fear they are like the latest pandemic this year. These rifts in reality that create new solipsistic universes these spontaneous ruptures on the seams of others. I am watching the fractures. I wonder if they are socially transmitted. The resentment, the baby teeth, the lost socks, the division of labor the division of boxes into his/her/them and labeled filled with the indivisible things we cannot see, the long nights, the silences that screech, the fully racked vials of tears, dried ink, and time itself. I am watching the fractures. The ice was always thin, yet we magically naively imagined permafrost. Time would stand still for them/us, eternally and nothing would ever change, despite the only constant being Planck and change. I see them underneath, blue, beautiful, and preserved in the romantic Dirac Sea. I am watching the fractures. The vacuum possesses infinite energy. That is what frightens me most- The antimatter of matters. I see them under ice. The cracks are molecular and the cleavages were sudden. Things broke, shattered atoms and mothers hearts. The odd physics of humans and our human bodies. I am watching the fractures. I think we all are- we are at that particular age. The age where all women are forced out, the age when all we become transparent, we didn’t even notice we were translucent until we are looked right through like a windowpane. Women must always become ghosts.