Ten of Swords
by Dylan Harbison
By now, I’ve mastered the art of beginning.
I rush love, I start over, I open
like a palm catching rain. I wake
at dawn, move to California,
shave my head, take a different name.
It’s endings I have trouble with.
I never make a clean break, I always stall
the getaway car, the poem
spoils on the page, unfinished.
When a lover leaves, I stop eating.
I get this from my father.
He couldn’t even die right.
All his theories of agnosticism
gave way to fear. He asked me to pray
but never taught me how. Father,
maker of worlds. Destroyer of worlds.
One wrong move and I become him.
But without him I’d be storyless.
He loved me. He destroyed me.
He died in February.
I started over. I no longer believe
in fate, but I believe in narrative.
Tell me how to get the ending right.
I rush love, I start over, I open
like a palm catching rain. I wake
at dawn, move to California,
shave my head, take a different name.
It’s endings I have trouble with.
I never make a clean break, I always stall
the getaway car, the poem
spoils on the page, unfinished.
When a lover leaves, I stop eating.
I get this from my father.
He couldn’t even die right.
All his theories of agnosticism
gave way to fear. He asked me to pray
but never taught me how. Father,
maker of worlds. Destroyer of worlds.
One wrong move and I become him.
But without him I’d be storyless.
He loved me. He destroyed me.
He died in February.
I started over. I no longer believe
in fate, but I believe in narrative.
Tell me how to get the ending right.
Dylan Harbison is a nonbinary writer from Burlington, Vermont. They now live in Western North Carolina, where they run Meter & Melody, a queer poetry night. Their poems have appeared in The Offing, The Shore, Prelude Magazine, South Florida Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. They love tercets and sitting on porch swings late at night.