Priscilla Frake is the author of Correspondence, a book of epistolary poems published by Mutabilis Press. She has published poetry in several anthologies and in dozens of journals including Verse Daily, Nimrod, The Midwest Quarterly, Medical Literary Messenger, Carbon Culture Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, Crack the Spine, The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, and The New Welsh Review. Her honors include the Lorene Pouncey Award at the Houston Poetry Fest and a Pushcart nomination. She lives in Sugar Land, Texas where she is a studio jeweler.
You’re a dark scribble of knotted
thread, a tangle of cells, a blot, a spill,
a bolt from the blue.
You don’t believe in the greater good
but only in you, in your more-you.
Therefore I submit to the knife.
Therefore I imbibe poison.
Therefore I bathe in fire.
You spread life and life,
which is death.
I choose death and death,
which is life.
not as a child,
but as a person shorn of will.
I want to be so small, so entirely
absent, that we miss as we pass in transit,
you going your own way, while I swing
into the way
which owns me, into the unknown
future, where anything could be taken
from me, where anything
could be given.