my chain

the links are there, I feel
them but cannot see
what they are

linked one by one to a
long trailing chain -
I forged them

with each choice, each
intaken breath, I
turned and so did they -

they turned my corners with me,
speaking to the one behind,
fashioning the one to come

heralding the past and
pointing the way to
where you do not know - their

place they have created,
the selfish links, 
as if you were there to feed them

so here I am
wondering what the next one is
that I cannot see

but feel is being made
now, this
minute, outwith my control

serving itself, its own
design, becoming
what it was told to be

when, before, it was
the merest glint of yellow
in its creator's eye -

chainmail, protector, linked
lifebreath of veins and
running blood together, looped

turned and soldered
with my moments, with
my pain - these are

my sidewounds' winning ways
not constricting but the
speaking words that said me

in the round:  this is
what she is and what she
was when I was done

how she started, how she
ended, the 3-D version
pure gold
The Teetering Woman
Return to Collections all