Saturday, December 19, 2015

What is to be learned from ash

Floors creak, the attic sounds
swollen and swelling: I am quite haunted
by myself. I want to bury seeds
into my very real knees, sprout gerber daisies
to spruce the place. I try not to remember
the scarlet rows, bruises I once inflicted
on thighs and wrists where skin was paper:

I am haunted with how
do I forgive myself written on the ceiling in ashes
that fall into my eyes and answer:

the Forgiveness will happen gradually-- a sprinkling
of salt into the folds until a day it's happened : saturated/ you will float
in water you will no longer wound yourself like a clock who needs
to be wound. It will be an Aegean kind of existence-- the salt-forgiveness
so dense you're wombed
again. This time quiet. --No padded thud of fist: no absorbed
anger. You know nothing, again : you know everything, sizzle
new knees, eyes form and all is cloud, halo and edgeless
you rest your comma-body below her rib. And the world is paused for you
to be let in. The ocean is unknown by you yet you are a part of
its blue-filled, holy goes on and on, silver spirits flick
through your endless yet contained inside the borders of your mother-land's pulsing.

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