firstfullmoon:Aria Aber, “Waiting for Your Call”[text ID: The light retreats a
firstfullmoon:Aria Aber, “Waiting for Your Call”[text ID: The light retreats and is generous again. / No you to speak of, anywhere—neither in vicinity nor distance, / so I look at the blue water, the snowy egret, the lace of its feathers / shaking in the wind, the lake—no, I am lying. / There are no egrets here, no water. Most of the time, / my mind gnaws on such ridiculous fictions. / My phone notes littered with lines like Beauty will not save you. / Or: mouthwash, yogurt, cilantro. / A hummingbird zips past me, its luminescent plumage / disturbing my vision like a tiny dorsal fin. / But what I want does not appear. Instead, I find the redwoods and pines, / figs that have fallen and burst open on the pavement, / announcing that sickly sweet smell, / the sweetness of grief, my prayer for what is gone. / You are so dramatic, I say to the reflection on my phone, / then order the collected novels of Jean Rhys. / She, too, was humiliated by her body, that it wanted / such stupid, simple things: food and cherry wine, to touch someone. / On my daily walk, I steal Meyer lemons from my neighbors’ yard, / a small pomegranate. Instead of eating them, / I observe their casual rot on the kitchen counter, / this theatre of good things turning into something else.] -- source link
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