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.