Steven Sanchez – Left Anterior Fascicular Block

Steven Sanchez

Left Anterior Fascicular Block

Scar tissue paves my heart
                                              in rumble strips
  like the 99. Southbound
                                              from San Francisco,
k-rails cinch three lanes 
                                              into two 
                                                            into one,
a miles-long corset
                             meant to protect
construction workers 
                                            while they erect pylons
for a high speed rail 
                             on the verge
                                                          of abandonment. 
Scuff marks streak 
                             against the concrete walls
 and I find myself
how a car survives,
                             imagining how 
                                            my door’s mirror
                                                           would shatter
and I’d wake up 
              with my face 
                            steeped in glass.

Target fixation—
                            if you stare long enough,
the body always moves toward its gaze,
               and maybe that’s why
                              I never make eye contact
in a mirror,
                              though I did stare 
              at the reflection 
                                         of you 
                             and I
                                         holding hands 
               on the bus
in the Castro—
                            one of the few times we did
in public. 
                            A man approached us,
said he lost the love of his life
               in the 80’s 
                                              when America refused to look 
at thousands
                of Queers 
                            dying. In the window, 
our hands held
                            an entire city. 
I never asked
                            Why are you so afraid?

makes a detour
                             in my heart,
After we ended,
                            you kissed a man
just outside a restaurant window
                                                           and told me

I felt bad because I kept wishing it was you.

               I saw green glass sparkle
on the side of the road—
it was a bird’s corpse, 
               chest hollowed,
                             a mound of flies gleaming. 

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