Tuesday, June 17, 2014

In distance's war

We wake up today in a midst of a
 friendly, nondestructive war
A war I launch in my plane flights
in recluse for words
from a wallow, red brick room.
I never commanded war, I vow
I will face the war of distance
of exile if you hang
dangling, little soldiers for when I fall
I vow and fight my face first,
then my shadow
then my body weight down by old
sticks, stones and garland prayer
Then  I battle rage of the unclear death in me
the death that rattles with the calendars and
with the muck on the gas hob I clean in
blood, spit and fire.
In the sunshine, later
each nook or branch reminds me
of my heroes
of my soldiers in uniforms made
with song lyrics, with the baring of teeth,
with photographs and with hugs
Each unkempt corner inside of me
is an image that pushes on my battle
inwards, onward

This war against my terror, my mirror
I fight
All alone
A lone, unsteady
maker of bread, wrapper of wounds
I run, I jog, I walk till a break
from the crossfire descends by dawn
because the soldiers
my heroes
walked out of the shadows
Away from my trail
one by one
casting behind them
silver plated pieces of earrings
zirconia shine bracelets
a few words
and three pressed roses
in distance's holy war.

No comments:

Post a Comment