Atlas

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