- Forever Present
Is there one more death within death?
And then one more death inside of that one?
And so on, so on, so on, infinitely dividing and dying again and again within each new division? The egg-matryoshka of death – the deeper we look, the smaller it becomes, indefinitely so. Et cetera. Et cetera.
Our time extends in both directions until nothing is left except the present everlasting moment.
- Forgotten Memories
What happens to all forgotten memories?
Memories that are forgotten more than once?
Memories that lost their bodies of words and images?
What would happen if words lost their meanings and definitions?
My father is drawing the map of the dead.
- The Kingdom of the Dead
The Kingdom of the Dead is far greater than the Kingdom of the Living. It is not surprising – all who are living, sooner or later join the Kingdom of the Dead, and as far as we know, the opposite doesn’t happen. If reincarnation exists, it still requires a new body, and the new body will sooner or later die – one can’t argue about that.
The dead are everywhere – we breathe them in with the air.
My father marks the graves of our deceased relatives on his hand-drawn map of the cemetery. I am supposed to find them one day. I wonder if I ever will.
- Falling
The words fall from the sky like leaves from a tree.
Do fishes go to school?
I count visible stars – there are more of them than my fingers and toes combined, so I stop counting.
My father complains there are no longer any stars in the sky. He is holding my mom’s hand to stop it from shaking.
I feel I am falling,
falling,
falling…
while failing to make a wish.
- C-sharp
The note C-sharp is what binds all stars and holds this Universe together.
At night you can hear C-sharp quietly buzzing. I imagine it as the endless string connecting and holding together heavenly objects, vibrating, and shimmering.
My umbilical cord was never tied correctly. If I could press my eye to my belly – I could probably see through my untied belly button all that is inside.
- Flossing the Dead
Sometimes the dead are so thick in the air – it’s hard to breathe.
You feel your heart trying and trying to pump blood, but the air is too thick and heavy. The dead get stuck between the teeth, and no flossing can help.
The air bleeds history, and you can’t escape it – even in your loneliest hour, you are never alone.
Beautiful poem! Thank you for posting.
Posted by: Patricia Clark | August 21, 2021 at 01:24 PM