Do you see me
hot spoons heated on stove elements
scooping out
soft, pink middle
turned over my earth
piled me neatly next to my desk:
a n old, wooden, kitchen table
where admist the finger paints, greek heroes and da Vinici mystified
the poem you’ve left
come
you must wonder
about the embers of your words
you liked so much you wrote them down
does your copy glow like mine
now
lain out on the floor
I walk over
in faith of healers, snake charmers and fortune tellers now defunct
as air
smelling of that truth
of flesh
fuels the flame.
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2 comments:
hot spoons heated on stove elements
scooping out
the insides
ouch.
Ya, just a bit dramatic I guess but the only way to describe some emotions.... I'm practicing (in all spaces of my life) to be more in tune with my body and to ground myself. Writing about how ones body feels when experiencing rage, loneliness, rejection etc. is interesting. The images are still somehow not quite right. I keep trying to find my voice.
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