Tonight's Poet Corner: Cat Scratch Fever

Cat Scratch Fever
by Belinda Roddie

The scratch on my forehead hasn't
quite healed yet. The magma in my
brain has cooled, and the dried blood's
finally flecked away from my nostrils.
But the scratch remains. A tattoo
I didn't want. A memory I don't remember.

My skin is decorated by constellations
that don't belong in any other sky. Pointillism
that doesn't deserve any other canvas.
Connect the dots, and I'm not any closer
to home than I was before.

Where I am means I will never sleep,
but I will always dream. Where I go
doesn't mean I'll ever escape. Not
even mountains can save me from
a cold, murky bay. Not even airplanes
can block the silhouette of the bridge
that leads me into my own no man's land.

The scratch on my forehead can't be seen,
but I can feel it. Scabs signifying dying
stars. Even with long enough nails,
I can't scrape away the nebulae.