Fractions,
heavy bar
weighed through the center point of
memories, the original
evaporates
like quiet wisps
rushing off to unknown graves
and feathery silences.
A whole life,
fractions.
50/50, torn down the middle
you will get the right
and he will get the left
and everything will be fine,
as jagged edges flap in the wind
and invisible
blood droplets land
like ellipsis on your white carpet.
Love has
been reduced to the simple
equation
of balance in the name of fairness
keep the wound clean
keep the cut symmetric
keep the scarring minimal.
But, I am a scared animal.
Picking at the bandage
and chewing my
scabs
to account for the missing
sustenance of the soul,
this cannibal of
balance
-and fairness.
I don’t long for a happy ending.
Just an ‘X equals’
finality.
Something concrete
in this fictional, folding world
of origami meaning
and papery promises
singed by time’s heady friction.
As I prod slow indexes
into coronary artifices
and lick my fingers.
This starving Ethiopian,
her gut distended like
the extension of long division,
Am I
________
I am
=
a
statistic.