Vertices

By P.D. Battle

My memories of life
are a mess,
the only thing standing out from the blur
are the shapes.
The circle where my parents were raised then fell in love.
Her square, him round peg.
The obtuse hill; broad as all outdoors
where they learned to be individuals.
Him loud edges, her soft corners
Made me,
Rounded Rectangle,
Oblonging for a place
to fit.

I recall
my turning point
in that same circle,
on its pointiest hill.
Where my journey diverged
into a vortex
of sharp lessons,
scalpels, eyes, opinions, sutures.
Countless ambulance
cubes,
where I pretended to ride backwards in a limo.
Perpendicular funeral pews
Her rounded casket / my rectangle stretcher / his square jaw and invisible face
so much brittle pain,
brutal
prejudiced backwoods acute centers,
for 360 days I slid around the edges of the same triangle.
Cylinder bolsters to drain the swelling in my
eyes.

Long skinny resistance bands hurt more by the color.
Rickety standing blocks,
parallel bars with splinters,
Callused, burning palms
from rubber-wheeled resilience.
Straight balance beams,
where I could never get my footing.

I was born and raised in Macon, GA

Formally educated at Agnes Scott College, My Momma’s Kitchen, Columbus State University, & The Other Side of the Tracks
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