By Molly C. Sheahan
2nd Place, Poetry, Create | Encounter 2023
The words cave-in, and fly from my side
Gushing chips of muscle and bone
Teeth spat out of a cotton dry mouth
A crumbling ribcage that shudders and groans
The slight burn slides down my throat
To hide the lump that rises there
A thermos of rage boils onto the page
On typed sheets it comes bare
I remember the ziggurat, yellowing, ailing
A brim to the skyline within the polis
An agoraphobic boat above the law’s moat
Holding the sickness within its solace
They tied me to the iron gate with silky thread
My breath whispered from drowning hands
The spoon cauldron bubbled and the bruises inked
While my hourglass emptied of sand
So I stare up at a hanging man each day
Scrutinizing every drop of blood
Tracing every scar on his body that mirrors
My own life, each memory, this flood
Until I realize that this is a pyrrhic victory
That it’s foolish to compare scars with my God
That a wounded soul just longs to be seen and known
And held until the pain has thawed
And so in each open palm I am curled
A girl collected into fragments rare
Wounded and hidden in wounds
So that I might be healed there
Artist Statement:
Healing begins when the heartache is first expressed. As a poet, my work explores the theme of superando, the Spanish word for overcoming but tinged with greater resilience.
I write from the perspective of an adventurer clambering inside my heart chambers, chiseling off the loss and longing until it spills over the edge. These poems evoke rock-bottom, and the hard work of restoration.