Obsidian

by Jill Tracy

They knew we were there because of what we left behind:
ribbons of pollution hardened like tar
paved by the same asphalt we scraped our knees in.
It welcomed our blood and left gravel
in the abrasions;
an eye for an eye.
But really I shouldn't be saying We,
I should be saying You.
I was a mallard in an oil spill and you
taught me how to drink it.
You taught me how to paint in shades of black -
only black: the absence of light,
and the oil in my lungs hardened to obsidian.
When you paint
an evil thing, do you invoke it or take away its power?
I think I finally know the answer.

"When you paint
an evil thing, do you invoke it or take away its power?" - Richard Siken