Bipolar Love Song

Bipolar Love Song Kim Malinowski (bio) At times, yes, there are chasms that must be jumpedover, and no—sometimes I watch that chasm for days,the hill on the corner of the street so far away,how could I pick up that plastic bag? Even to save somestray creature. Love is a word that is ash and puckersmore than lemon, more like sour milk or the leftoverbottle of cheap vodka left for the deer by a passing car. And then there is mixed. Up down, all around, earthquake,elevator, knives, knicks, glass shards, crunching on igloo icewithout repentance. Ants crawling up and down back,sizzle lightning. The entire spectrum of emotion feltin one blink, and a cry of please. And there is a let me die.And there is a please, let me live. No one knows what willhappen when the sun sets. Then there is hypomania. All buttercups and raspberries.Strawberries with whipped cream and it's like crack,everyone wants a piece of this. Everyone wants to feelrainbow, taste mist, chant badly and beat hand to breastpercussion. The trees hold vigil. What are left of them.I am that green space, that manicured section that isgovernment property. Ordered to be green for the welfareof their citizens. I would help my citizens. Say this is a treeand I am the galaxy, bubble gum, bubbles iridescent inthe sun. Whatever joy is, euphoria is, hypomania isa kaleidoscope of affection. It is lying in mud, watchingsparrows, giggling at squirrels. I know the Universe's secretsand hope not to be swallowed by the black hole. Then there is mania. Shallow breaths, all energy, as if coffee potand caffeine pills were given in blood. Nothing makes sense.Words spill out over each other, one bird singing two songs. And yes,the ants are there beneath the surface of my skin. They crawl up, End Page 86 down, shifting, the breeze too much. The sun too much. All energy.Cannot do anything but beat fists against the bathroom wall. Wantto be mushroom. Give anything to rest, retreat into cave. Butout of the house again, midnight does not matter. The stars don't judge. And now, this rest. This break. Medications working. Chance at life.Chance to feel pain as others feel it. I know love. I know how to lose love.I know the sifting of an archeological dig saved me and that I rememberthe taste of silt and loam, softer than clay and ash. And I have tasted bone.I am where I belong. Running from snow on sandy bank,and splashing into warm ocean water giggling in winter coat. End Page 87 Kim Malinowski Kim Malinowski earned her B.A. at West Virginia University and her M.F.A. from American University. She studied with the Writers Studio. Her collection Home was published by Kelsay Books and her verse novel Phantom Reflection was published by Silver Bow Publishing. Her full-length sequence Buffy's House of Mirrors was published by Q, an imprint of Querencia Press. Her chapbook Death: A Love Story was published by Flutter Press. She has two full-length books forthcoming. She was nominated for the Pushcart Prize, twice for the Best of the Net Prize, and the Rhysling Award. She writes because the alternative is unthinkable. Copyright © 2024 Pleiades and Pleiades Press