Dear ,
I have forgotten my body, lost it under layers of turquoise and denim, found it weighted down by the glances of strangers and touch of calloused acquaintance hands. I have forgotten my body, misplaced it beneath Kafka and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, put it in a small box and mailed it to my mother with no return address and just enough postage. I have been ricocheting between extremes: I am sexy naked on the floor, drunk on red wine, visceral; I am stuck in the pages, logical abstractions bar none.
This morning I awoke in my own skin, the arch of my back a bridge, the balls of my feet warm. I did not fight myself. There was no blood on the sheets.
Stranger, this morning I awoke to the sun and did not scream. I am full up like a balloon but I will not float away.
When did I grow into a willow tree? Where have my branches been? Do my roots extend out to you?
Longing and full of love,
Karina
oh oh oh oh this.
Comments
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There are so many lines in here
that make this so good
they all seem to feed off
each other if that makes
any sense
really enjoyed the read
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You are a master with poetic device, vaguelyfamiliar.
I loved the conceptual work and metaphors in this piece... there is not much more I can think to say... it was one of those pieces that absolutely captivated me while I read.
Oh, thought of something... I loved how this was a darker write... but you twisted kernels of hope and neutral emotions in there.
Beautiful and brilliant.
Bravo!
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"mailed it to my mother with no return address and just enough postage."
Such a perfect line. I like a lot of lines here, but that's my personal favoritetest.
God bless prose poetry.
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