Amor Fati “you cannot flee from yourself.” C. G. Jung, The Red Book Hello imp, Hello demon, tormentor, friend. You are dear to me. I wear you like a cap of wires, live snakes that needle me, jam fire down each nerve, make me hop to. You are a match, scraped up and down my gullet, spurt of sulfur and flame. You live there, where my heart burns within me, unquenchable. I have followed you until my feet were cinders and my thoughts a flutter of ash. And you are dear to me. You have spent my days as if they were yours, jerked me away from every joy, to leave it half-eaten, spoiled. I am bound to your flaming wheel. When you roll, I must turn with you, speeding along a rutted track, hardly touching the earth. You are the hummingbird’s iridescent motion— not deliberate, but quick, light, intemperate. Your pulse beats like wings. You are dear to me, sponge soaked in vinegar, live coal, thumbscrew. You open your mouth and I see galaxies spill down your throat like milk. After following you to ruin & beyond, I stand before you now, you who never stand still, I take your hand. You burn like lithium: in air, in haste. What will happen if I stop your spinning, stopper your impatience, step down your voltage? Today you are pure potential and I am the grounded wire that will carry a charge.
Priscilla Frake is the author of Correspondence, a book of epistolary poems. She has work in Verse Daily, The Sun, Nimrod, The Midwest Quarterly, Medical Literary Messenger, The Wayfarer, Whale Road, Spoon River Poetry Review, and The New Welsh Review, among others. Anthology publications include Weaving the Terrain: 100 Word Southwestern Poems, Enchantment of the Ordinary, and Women. Period. She lives in Asheville, NC, where she is a studio jeweler.