Disappearing, Parque Central, Antigua by Theodosia Henney
Three days to christmas & trees are strung
with yellow lights, wrapped like jewelry on limbs,
blinking. Families & vendors mill,
call for each other, holler out their wares-
textiles, dulces de coco, miel, sandia, leche, maiz,
plastic toys that flash colored lights & levitate, spinning,
bottle rockets, sparklers, yo-yos, strips of red fireworks
you light & run, hands over ears.
Perhaps it is habit after years
of going alone to such places,
that something inside me leaps away
to join the warm night,
even as you hold my hand.
Maybe it is something else, stronger
than repetition, this pulse
toward the dark sky rising through
the mass of color & noise like mist,
like steam off a sweating horse: a desire,
bone-wrenching, marvelous, to melt
into the night, shatter my particles
until porous with starlight
gleaming in my eyebrows & hair, beneath
my fingernails, shining through
eyelids & pelvis, femurs; earlobes & teeth, throat & spine,
C-7 to coccyx, racing through blood, igniting
the plasma, coalescing
in marrow so my bones glow then flutter out
a billion light years away.
You tug my hand.
Returned, I step onto the cobblestones
of the street, wary of cars,
yours once again.