Mia Berg

This post always slaps me in the face

Marta Tycinskajesus hands, 2008

I often think of pressing my palms to the base of your throat and crushing

not for long

just long enough to revel in the sense of control you possessed
the tables turned
when my hands were your indifference and
your throat, my affection
my burst heart sweet like blood in naivety
and cemented so deeply in fear that only in force
could a dull throb of a pulse be felt

but I would release you quickly
to congratulate myself
for however effortless it was
to recede into a small and insentient slug
willing your eyes to wander my way
I can no longer recall their color