The Healing Poem by Anne Carly Abad

Can you cure me of the sun
red, embracing and constant?

What of the horizon, distant,
balancing, doorway to the sky?

Can you cure me of the time
Mother taught me to blow bubbles?

What of the wild indigo, naive
and honest, cupped in my hands?

Can you cure me of my dreams
prismatic, consuming and mad

with forbidden kisses, illusory
spaces, sudden abundance and affairs?

No one taught us to conceive beauty
in the fertile womb of our souls

but just cure me of all things beautiful
permanent, diminishing and dying

and I might face you sane
and I might stop holding my breath.