Writing is a cathartic outlet. I have always written snatches of poems, songs, and prose. As I get older, I have seen the history of who I was, from a young child to a young adult, through the pieces I have written. Here I share some of what I wrote while completing a degree in English.
Movement
We are a circle of fire.
Baring our chests to the open forest,
shadowing the grass with our
distorted bodies.
The longer I lie here,
the more I becomes we.
We laugh out loud,
and more quietly we sing,
to ourselves,
the music of no voices.
We are outlines now.
Movement without mass.
I bend, you arch,
we traipse
through and through
trees bending themselves
out of our way.
The longer I dance,
the more you becomes I,
the more I becomes we.
We lie.
She was not born without,
they were taken.
She did not willingingly go,
she was given.
She did not forcibly enter,
she was shown.
She did not disrupt,
she was loved.
Walking on in a circle and standing still in her circle,
of white, in white.
Who wanted control,
and who feared it?
Cleansing and protecting, then becoming a barrier,
with water, at the water’s edge.
She had roamed until she forgot
if she was girl or spirit.
An angel, of white, in white,
erased the barrier.
He was the counter, he was the watchman
of pears, of spirits, of her.
Without hands, she ate
the pear’s body bursting
sweet and golden.
But nothing could replace her hands.
19 19
] I have not yet learned the art of
] waiting waiting.
] in sacrifices Time is measured in sacrifices,
] having good in having good
] conversations with
] but going strangers who are but going and coming.
] for we know Scores of paper account for all we know;
] of works the music of works
] die in the span of a century
] after and after?
] and toward forever we reach up and toward all,
] says this all our marked time says this.
58 58
] You laughed at me
] and said
] What is the use
] my dear,
]running away in running away?
]bitten The flesh I was, was bitten
] to the quick
] by your silver teeth and quick smile
]you and you,
]makes a way with the mouth your animal makes a way with the mouth.
]beautiful gifts children You gave me beautiful gifts, children,
]songdelighting clearsounding lyre you songdelighting clearsounding liar.
]all my skin old age already I am less than a fraction of a turn of the heavens
but with all my skin old age already
hair turned white after black hair turned white after black.
]knees do not carry Your knees do not carry
]like fawns us, only you, And like fawns
]but what could I do? we lay vulnerable, but what could I do?
]not possible to become It is not possible to become
]Dawn with arms of roses impossible, so I wait for Dawn with arms of roses.
]bringing to the ends of the earth She and I are bringing, to the edges of the earth,
]yet seized the songs that are not yet sezied
]wife in the throat. That wife
]imagines is precious, she who imagines
]might bestow that she might bestow more than you.
But I love delicacy and this to me— But I love delicacy and this to me-
the brilliance and beauty of the sun — desire has allotted the brilliance and beauty of the sun - desire has allotted.
The Girl Without Hands
She was not born without,
they were taken.
She did not willingingly go,
she was given.
She did not forcibly enter,
she was shown.
She did not disrupt,
she was loved.
Walking on in a circle and standing still in her circle,
of white, in white.
Who wanted control,
and who feared it?
Cleansing and protecting, then becoming a barrier,
with water, at the water’s edge.
She had roamed until she forgot
if she was girl or spirit.
An angel, of white, in white,
erased the barrier.
He was the counter, he was the watchman
of pears, of spirits, of her.
Without hands, she ate
the pear’s body bursting
sweet and golden.
But nothing could replace her hands.