Camille Blanc

Scepter

When something is a fake of the real thing,
adrift, untethered, subject
to the winds, we say it is
en carton, made of cardboard.
This week we woke up everyday
a little late and laughed that we
were cardboard poets,
for example: writing like we were
constantly warming up
for a game we'd never play.
When my roommate told me
she tried to die at 17,
all I could do was remember
I had such flimsy reasons
for staying alive then.
My anchor to the world en carton:
good grades, a girlfriend,
and a hike in the Vosges.
I am fortunate
my tethers evolved at the same pace
that they became obsolete,
but it's easy to imagine a glitch
in that machine.
When she woke up from
what she calls a non-accident,
she was more upset that they
shaved her head than about
having lost a hand.
Today she says,
I have one hand in a way
that makes you wonder
how someone could possibly end up
with two, as if God
had forgotten, and then remembered,
that She only ever meant to give us
the hand with which She moulds. 
 

--
Camille Blanc is a poet and translator from Paris, France. Within the translation collective Connexion Limitée, Camille aims to make poetry originally published in the US accessible to French-speaking audiences. Camille also translates drug policy research and works to defend drug users' rights as part of a national harm reduction association.