The day I turned into glass
I ignored the warnings—
words like shatter and crack
thrown at me like stones.
I love the way I can see
through myself, my body
mere punctuation of air,
a parenthesis between chair
and floor, sun-shining.
I am tougher than they think.
My heart is a bright stain
inserted between arcs
of curved and tempered ribs.
I have become a cathedral
raised to a transparent god,
and also a flash of angel.
Apt to appear as mere light,
I whisper messages in the ears
of the easily over-awed.
Dropped from a silica tongue
my words are oddly opaque.
Glass has its consolations.
Freedom from the folds of flesh,
the endless press of skin—
I have dissolved divisions
between the out and the in.
Moving with delicate strength,
I slip through rooms like a sigh.
BIO: PS Cottier lives in Canberra and currently edits poetry for The Canberra Times. She has published eight books of poetry, two of which were speculative. She often publishes original poetry at her blog, pscottier.com.