VITAL SIGNS
–for Mary-Louise Parker
In your screen door metaphor, you
Sighed and creaked, flew
Open and slowed shut
So much it made me
Want to ask you
To check my vital signs,
Starting with my temperature,
Heart to heart,
Or like a mother’s palm
On the forehead of her child.
My temperature is not normal.
It’s geothermal, astral
In there.
That’s why my eyes
Hair trigger flare
At nothing
Like a spooked colt’s.
Next you’ll need to press
This seashell against my chest
To test my breath tides—
Calms and squalls,
Waves and swells,
Surges and typhoons
And sailors drowned.
Trace, if you will,
My heart race
To its finish under my jawline.
My heart is in a hurry.
That’s not normal.
It’s like it wants to unwind
From a spool.
Despite tectonic strain
The pressure in my veins
Remains deadpan,
Neglectful as the molten
Center of the earth
Is to the sun.