Poetry by Melissa Mulvihill

               ​ DaLee_pl CC



How to Wake Up Feeling Dangerous  


In a clearing in the woods
make a bed with moss for your head.                 
Breathe in the willow leaves.  

Blacken your eyes, silence your ears,
nevermind the red. 
That’s just the loss. 

In the dark you won’t notice it.
Before you lie down to the banging
of your arrhythmia begging, do you see me? 

sip from the creek nearby 
and tend to your tremors 
right there on the rocks  

then lift your eyes to behold 
a sky filled with wail and thirst
and tell the world your skin is my skin  

and the body breathes when it breathes
and not a second before.
Drape yourself in the moon for warmth 

and feel the planets calling out to you
saying, nothingness is not something
you can fall into. 

Don’t be slumped at some altar
talking to things with wings
like you are of their flock. 

Walk on the grave of the times you would
have done anything 
for a god. 

Dance across the roots of the tree
with the branches of dissonance 
and scatter in powdered form  

the sorcery that told you to repent for 
everything and nothing at all. 
Fail to pluck out your heart and 

say, take this, please.
Forget that nothing would have made you
happier than to give a god your heart 

even though he would absolutely have said
Yes, well, not yours. Not your heart. See that
the ground is simply part of the planet on 

which we live and that our planet 
isn’t grounded on anything 
at all. Continue to gather your bits of  

dirt and dust and matter each growing in influence.
Discard the old and useless unimpeachable principles
that you occasionally dig up. 

Move freely through space
orbiting your sun.
Now lie in the wild and dirty night 

with worlds staring back at you
and leave a trail of yourself behind 
in cardiac read outs and love. 

When you wake up
scream in the face 
of the lion you were caged with 

just one more time
for good measure. ​
​Maybe it will echo everywhere. 
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Melissa writes creative non-fiction essays and poetry exploring rituals around living and dying and living with progressive illness. She has had essays published this year with Pangyrus Literary Magazine, HerStry, Anti-Heroin Chic Magazine, Months to Years Literary Magazine, and Tangled Locks Journal. She has a B.A. in psychology from Kenyon College and an M.A. in counseling from John Carroll University. Melissa is retired from homeschooling and from counseling. She lives with her husband, who is an attorney, in northeast Ohio. You can find her essays and poems at melissamulvihill.com.
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