The Black Box

Rosemary Sullivan
From:   Blue Panic. Black Moss Press, 1991, p 45

I eyeball the sun
slicing our wing.
I go blind.

Below a blood bath
covers the takes, the mountains
marching to Chile.

I head into
your history.
Your mind,

the black box in
      space
I must recover
after the accident.

You choose a separate window
to tell me
I cannot use your eyes.

You hunt the life you left
sealed in a jar;
extracted viscera.
To find it, you must
break the jar, break
the jar in your head.

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