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I.
He lives in me
a moss-covered troll
I call him Atlas—
burdened and forgotten

He has a single suite
right beside the heart, but the sheets are
untouched, for he’s always 
in front of the beating muscle, holding
my trembling rib cage together

In case the heart bursts free

He neither eats nor smiles, just 
sighs, ever-watchful for escape.

It’s too dangerous. He’d repeat
Each breath shallower than the last
The heart stamps and screams,
her tears flood the lungs breathless—
Old Atlas just sighs
His arms still as stone
the pressure builds—

No, dear
Keeping you safe is why I exist.


II.
We share a pot of tea
Me and Atlas, after the heart went to sleep
—He still keeps a hand on the bones

“Why don’t you let go for a while?” I ask
His pebble eyes soften as steam rises
A boulder can survive the fall,
but she’s made of glass with hairline cracks

“A fall?” I ask after offering biscuits
He takes one and tosses it out, we watch
the shortbread rolls down, the road uncharted
They say the fall is there, at the end of the road

“They?” the golden sweet disappear into the mist
The ones before me, their warnings 
came stirring in the wind

“They could be mistaken,”
the warm buttery crust melts into my throat
“Beyond the unknown could be a field of roses.”

Old Atlas sips tea, then shakes his unwieldy head
The moss on his body rustles—
a hushed but heavy sigh

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