heels
When I was younger I jumped
into a snowdrift
and followed them for miles
through wind-
torn graveyards and
found my legs frozen red and white
and burning back to life.
I can only tell you
that cold feet
and hands
are what
pull the wires from the back
power strip
and turn mouth
and body a buzzing quiet like
that moment where large, smooth
fish filled my mouth
with brine
so sharp it burst from my nose
and eyes.
And I ask you:
what does it look like
to heal?
Do you count
the running?
Do you count becoming
whitewater draw
cranes lifting up
in a chain
of roots,
or becoming
us circling
each other like dusky hawks
hunting
a rabbit
but these white flashes are
the stripes of stairs and windows
as we turn
and turn and turn
in the small cross
of this dark maze.
into a snowdrift
and followed them for miles
through wind-
torn graveyards and
found my legs frozen red and white
and burning back to life.
I can only tell you
that cold feet
and hands
are what
pull the wires from the back
power strip
and turn mouth
and body a buzzing quiet like
that moment where large, smooth
fish filled my mouth
with brine
so sharp it burst from my nose
and eyes.
And I ask you:
what does it look like
to heal?
Do you count
the running?
Do you count becoming
whitewater draw
cranes lifting up
in a chain
of roots,
or becoming
us circling
each other like dusky hawks
hunting
a rabbit
but these white flashes are
the stripes of stairs and windows
as we turn
and turn and turn
in the small cross
of this dark maze.
Kolbe Riney is a queer poet and student based in Tucson, Arizona. Her poetry centers on themes of healing and experience through the lens of PTSD.
Art: Leaving Darkness by Cierra Rowe
