The Autobiography of a Totally Harmless Person

Without you, bathysphere, the silent world
will dive even farther and more bravely
from us. Without crew, museability
will take one final blow, sound will dead-weight
a useless rap against every seafloor.
I did not cherish my way to the end
of the street, sweet tank. Carried no house,
crossed streets vainly. I was riding a bus
and there was fatigue throughout the city.
And the dog I was dreaming never scared
of dirtytalk. She cowered to muck up
the pride we have at last torn from our selves.

Only steep in these leagues may I pilot
your steel subject. Only now everyone
in the photographs dead. Boy I buried
finally tame. No retractiles, no dark
so long unpatented. But that dog, she
goes so heavy with pause at water's edge,
quieting her truest locomotive.
Didn't I invent that? We know to dive,
not for tidal wave, not for subterrain,
but for making echo, knowing nothing
of each other's loss. We dove. I knew you
and never knew you. Both happened. Both true.

Copyright © 2005 Bridget Cross All rights reserved
from Chelsea
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission