Mirrored souls
a poem
What it’s made of
there isn’t a simple answer
we make their ghosts
romantic, no one, not
really knows how
to love and to be fully alive.
I create a plan
tangible, in my hands, now
I try breathing
and by day 21, I want to
rip it to shreds
it’s a cage spun of silver
my wolf’s pacing like crazy.
What I’m afraid of, I can’t
name, hiding is a posture
aches to map, remember
the last time minus control
you run when you dream
find your phone, number
fades, dial tones for escape.
Four spines spell, stay wild
maybe I didn’t read
the books, my memory
someone else’s fantasy
but you know what
I’ll carry it like a rough fork.
This moment, rotating
a certain type of blankness
gushes out of splitting
between two things, where
being lost doesn’t feel
like the worst scenario.
All those reasons make why
dismantled by its same
and I take myself apart like
a car, for fun, a hobby, spot
things I missed the last
time I proved her wrong, to
say I gave it all up, splinters
I so badly once wanted.
I’m going out to walk it off
unmoored, I may not
come back and that’s okay
because I will loosen
improvise, start moving on
find shards of my soul.
Author’s Notes:
Is it safe to reference Wuthering Heights again?
I choose a word for every month because letting one reign over a year is just too much decision-making for my taste. For June, it was Autoschediastic. Which is just a fancy (and Greek) way of saying improvise.
I wrote a version of this poem (in my notebook) at the beginning of the month, and I thought it would be fun to see where I stand now. It felt like adding a ton of discordant notes to what (if I may say so myself) was a beautiful little seedling.
Having said that, the experience taught me a few things, and I think (and hope) I have an objective rearview of what worked and what didn’t. Most of it worked.
For July, the word is coexist, and I’m figuring out how to tangle my toes.
I had an interesting experience today. For this month’s Oral Tradition, I had to read someone else’s poem. And often I express the idea that I appreciate your poems not from a point of understanding, but rather a sense of movement through time that echoes my own experiences. Like this one. It would be interesting to do some spoken word versions of them.
Your beautiful poem reminded me of Latihan, an Indonesian spiritual meditation. "Tantric Latihan is a blindfolded, shared moving meditation that invites a direct relationship with the mystery of life itself."
I like getting lost....because thats when I find myself!