2 December 2002 | Vol. 2, No. 4

Fault-Line

by HANNAH LEAH

I can tell my story

but I can't forget           there is your story

          a sort of companion to mine

                                                            connected by seam of rock and tree

                                                            the line between them is crushed

                                                  ground together

                                                                                like two continents migrating without water

                                                            painfully scraping the things in common

sometimes one end buckles

                                        doubling over itself

                                                            creating new valleys and perspectives

then tension escapes

in a terrible overlap where disagreements reside

          Stories are full of staggering truths

that are impossible to hold in even when your teeth are clenched

                    and those words tumble out from both sides

                                        You tried to give me an ocean in a breath, a glacier in one swallow

                                                  there is nothing now: nothing more than a few frozen islands

                                        the time is for silence

                    I only reach for things that don't want more than I can give.

                              But I forgot to tell you about the plot—