Just beneath my breastbone
anger circles spin.
Caught in their subtle pain,
I still my heart’s longings,
hold my breath,
lost in angry circles.
My thirteen-year-old favorite
Cyclotron ride in the amusement park
spins me till I stick to the spinning wall,
floor drops out from beneath my feet.
Ball of wax, blades of steel wheels;
the sparking friction toy I push and push
to see sparks fly from spinning metal through plastic colors,
red white and blue.
The rest of my body waits,
hostage to angry circles,
hungry for sensation, softness,
Stretching, salivation, sex.
Breathing, I give space to the circles.
They spread, my body a thirsty sponge,
soaking and sparking and sinking in.
Bouyant new form.
Sara Epstein is a clinical psychologist from Winchester, Massachusetts, who writes poetry and songs, especially about light and dark places. Her poems are forthcoming or appeared in Silkworm, Paradise in Limbo, Mom Egg Review, Chest Journal, Literary Mama, and two anthologies: Sacred Waters, and Coming of Age.