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.
