k magazine F17

For Constance
by Sarah Cassidy
Planets were captured in her chest, searching for her lungs, recovery
Injections of lost follicles, wrist limp, hung, recovery.
I know these toxins brought you malignant fear,
Constellations tucked under your sandpaper tongue, recovery
Limbs branching out towards chemicals and affection,
There were no options we had 3 days, you are so high-strung, recovery
Inhabitants have ransacked your body and taken your cells hostage
You became consumed by the songs they sung, recovery
You remind me of a constant movement like moon dust and paved gravel,
Lymph nodes providing residence, expanded and clung to glands, recovery
This metastasized solar system began to shift, rotate towards your consciousness,
Provided hope drenched in resentment, oh how it stung, recovery
Waves of nausea, my palms are lined with apologizes and nothings
There are so many words I can not form, I feel so useless and young, recovery
Results are often given with palms soaked in gasoline,
Ignition is still possible, constance you are still among the ill, recovery.
16
KALEIDOSCOPE • Issue10