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The rock in my stomach
Is immobile A slog of ice turned stone Jadis come to reside in my gut They say the blue pill will dissolve it Mercury off gassing into my abdomen That scare me too Before I might drop a hundred To sit in a stranger’s chair Who nods while i read her My monologue But I am far from such Familiarity I weigh how much of Myself to reveal to neighbors Who are already judging The fragile self I have Planted on foreign soil Cracking like she always does Exposed to sugar and sunlight No one to tell. The old ones will Beacon me home But the microbes from this place Have embedded themselves Under my fingernails I am not the same A part of me is in the environment Not to be easily replanted The new ones Have no skin in the game No retroactive reconnaissance To recall saner days when They needed me Is it scarier here, sweetheart, Knowing winter still arrives In my belly even when all My preclusive dreams have Come true? I say: "How dare you be down In Europe Where castles clutter up The landscape Health care is free Bakeries abound UN suit talking solves all the Western World’s problems- Even yours It almost made sense When you sat immobile Day dreaming your Dis-reality Raising your expectation But now here you are Eat another pastry Climb across the cobblestone Be a little God-damn grateful Chin up buttercup Isn’t this everything you ever wanted? Tell Jadis to go fuck herself." I’ll let you know if that works.
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the singularity of this mind
circling around the same dying delusion is tearing fine lines around the corners of eyes passed off as shadows awkward elbows thrust back and forth to mimic running as if one could escape out of this shell of a body. But empty ramblings lead to swollen hearts, too full to contain spilling over to imaginary spaces that decay slower than the brutality of reality. Tidy up Diligently Dutifully devoted To that which rounds Out your hours My day is never so full That I am empty of you I am never empty of you We’ve all dashed so
far from where we started I hardly remember youthful farsightedness is easily lost on the duties that fill our fingers The clouds that clot our sight do not mean we live in a fog The white black that consumes our plodding phases is not our eternity I have to believe that something of seventeen still lingers, although she pains me with her adolescent optimism, I return hoping she wasn’t wrong that there is beauty in the stacked stones along the path -that there is a path indeed, mountains to be scaled and conquered that the world is still ours You are a lone skiff
enclosed in the fog of the arctic as my icy corpse drifts in the steely sea I didn’t believe you were there but I could not deny the music sometimes coming in plucked strings sifting through the waves other times in piano chords unwillingly resuscitating me from the water. Then there was your voice- the voice of a child I gazed upon only hours old the harmony of sibling’s hymns and your father somewhere behind the serenade dancing like David his sweat mixing in the salt water. Peace rippling -flowing over aged hands
muscles stretch to inhuman lengths until the soul cries out “I’m here!” This is why I clamor for my mat lay myself and bend hoping for relief hoping for answers hoping for sweat. It is difficult to explain the melodies that echo from my head flowing out veritably felt by each spirit in the space They hear a foreign language, with no comprehension only the emotion translating hand gestures written on the sub-conscience They’ll perceive it as a bow call me humble call me beautiful I am neither of those things. The terror of that follows me as I glide through the movements, making microscopic changes in position that reverberate first in my mind then trickle down into my soul until I am weeping wetting the mat with salt and truth a truth I never have words for Something is dying to get out-
circling in and out of my consciences- roving on the peripheral of reality. I am a slave to the chance that color, light, meaning might spring from my fingertips It’s true, we live on the planet of the dying light
Swallows still rush to spiraling shelter Crickets sing in cities Sand and sweat mingle with song Empires of ants grow and are crushed with no notice The flow and rush of seasons continues Loons call from the rivers the edge despite the coyotes distance And each morning, if you stand barefoot in the dew, Your feet will chill and the earth will warm them The sun, though she’s fading, gives nutrients She never relents or slows her mercy. True story from Aug 20
Driving alone I pulled over to clarify to the Universe I’d rather be a friend than a threat. Cop found this unusual and pulled over to ask if I knew about the recent robberies. I told him I was only stealing time and he drove away. The Universe had already escaped, clearly trying to avoid me. So I went home, determined to start fresh. I came in ready to be the wife, but he held up his hand and said “I’m drunk” Then he wept and cursed at God because he doesn’t know who I am without Jesus. He wants to be first to me yet never felt quite good enough I kissed his eyes - knelt on the floor my head on his lap I told him he was first i love him i’m sorry i want God to show up too He woke up in a stupor, pencil in hand drew wild and dark things he doesn’t remember. To this day, people ask about that sketch they can feel what he couldn’t say. Even us without hands are artists. Even us without words are poets I’m not sure if the Universe is my friend but we all know our hearts are voracious thieves that want everything. Dis-reality:
after our meeting I just want to sleep- sleep for days let the drowsy drop over me dark falling heat rising -where nothing matters as my brain falls into autonomic response inhaling-exhaling my troubles slipping to an overinflated colorless world where disaster and sexual encounter loom around fuzzy edges of disreality I’ll wake to three precious minutes where I remember nothing |
AuthorErin is a doula, writer, mother to men, and teacher on permanent hiatus. She loves how writing connects us and thrives on the bright edges of human experience. |
