from january 17, 2012

Closing your eyes isn’t going to change anything. Nothing’s going to disappear just because you can’t see what’s going on. In fact, things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes. That’s the kind of world we live in. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won’t make time stand still.
Haruki Murakami

*

here:
the body & its unbearable
      weight
of eyes, unblinking
if only to pause
the crescendo
of this watch moving
on

you become
a blossom, wilted
suspended by
an invisible thread

like the wishbone
from your last thanksgiving
as a family
still hanging, covered
in seven different autumns’
dust, in your mother’s
kitchen

*

the body cannot hide
what the mind denies
for long

it remembers:
somatic terror, the loss of one
simple syllable, like the shutting
of a window, or a hockey stick blocking
an icy stone.
the proxemics of touch: jelly
of spine, thimble of breath,
wiggle & knot of intestine,
& the staccato of a heartbeat
like a bird, again & again, beating
into its own glass reflection.

*

tell me this
is not the end,
that the sinew roped, years-
old, around the body
can shed.
that silhouettes will
not always haunt
these lamplit nights.
that beneath the spindles,
matted leaves, & rain, there are
still stones to be collected, carefully
the way i chose them as a child:
ostrich egg-speckled, white as
loose bottom teeth, crumbling & red
for writing.

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