Prose poem: “Lament”

Photo by Francesca Woodman (1958–1981), courtesy of Archive.org.

We found each other after the darkness receded. While my eyes were adjusting to the light, however, I failed to see that you were growing an outer skin made of glass. Being so happy to gaze at you blinded me to the fact that you were belonging less and less to this world with each new inch of separation.

Now I can see that you are entombed within a translucent statue of yourself an arm’s length thick. I want nothing more than to break you free but I am powerless. I’ve been running every heroic scenario through my mind and it always ends with shards of glass.

All I can do is bleed.