Sarah J. Sloat, Thread Passage, 2022 (Artist Instagram)
Mixed media, 5.5 x 8.5 inches
That’s what women do—
run along the pier that turns
their muscles to satin
tatters, feed the child
that rends them, moon
through cloud film—
now playing
in theaters near you.
Plot point:
disappear. Say no
while he puts the child
inside you. Suffer better.
Win an Oscar.
Just a few miles farther.
The sun ignites
the water, the waves
that sometimes swallow
tourists where
they stand. They
do not suffer. Or
this is what we tell
the children who turn us
to bramble.
Don’t scream
when the tide comes,
when the knee
gives, when the bad
boyfriend makes you
call him partner
because he is taking
all you have. Men
don’t suffer well,
sniffle weakly, see
the face of God
in a kidney stone.
Hamstring, quad,
calf on fire:
smile. The last thing
Apollo touches
is the stone for those
who tried to save
the washed-away,
the gone.
Remembering is suffering
at its very best. Run toward it.
It’s the only thing that shines.