There’s no leaving this.
write it backwards. as in, start at the end. when you get to the beginning: breathe. It’s only the beginning.
I am free floating and move staring at the television. I move when the tiny people say so. Their sweat is mine. Nothing compared to following the sultry Soul Train on a Sunday afternoon.
It is easier to refrain from, as they say, “go cold turkey,” rather than allowing myself to cheat.
I am swiftly moving through the ethers. I can feel the ancestors’ drum. I mimic the beat underfoot.
bah tatata bah tatatah. I am summoning the rain.
When all around, the sky reads “unhealthy” to take in.
Even though the sky is grey. It’s more like the haze inside a bell jar. Rain, please make sense of this drought. There is no sense to be made.
In a sense: we are all congested. If only we could breathe: we’re back at the beginning.
Ramblings on: the page
i took out “grieving” for everything to fit on one page. maxed out the margins. squeezing the space out of the page. packing them together like cattle. what will get sliced—left out? If everything must fit on one page in order for you to see me. Speak to me.
a phenomenon. a place holder. a place that holds space for these words. walls hold me sometimes. I’d write on the wall but the thought of paying someone money—since i rent—to keep my words after i leave—because I always leave—makes me shudder.
i’d like you to hold my words. be the place. open space. hold these words in the part of the body, your body, that bleeds. when you bleed out they might scream (your name). the way an overexcited domesticized—(an -ized!)—dog barks when finally free.
Tell me about your life before I was born.
Tell me a new story. Sing a new song.
Tell me your earliest memory.
Do you remember me then? Was I a whisper carried by the wind?
Is it dark? Too dark to return to—left long ago.
Shadow’s lightning cracks open
Tell me about the first time you fell in love.
How did you mourn? Does your anguish show?
Tell me, has your heart healed?
After scattered showers over head
did the sun break through?
Tell me, please.
A moment with mother, father.
Let the record show: memory. Heat, tight knot at a “loss”–the body has become “remains.”
The body remains and the person you love is beyond the body.
Please there must have been–
was there a time?
The first time
You glanced in lake, river, ocean
stared so long
looked in so far
“Tell me my love,” what did you see?