Rosa Saba
sunseti slipped out
into the waves of watercolour that broke themselves upon the shore of the horizon and i disappeared as they darkened into black i escaped through the sunset as words were climbing up my legs setting fire to my ears and forcing me to retreat away from the choking letters and sinking ink that tattooed all this sound into my skin at first, the sunset saved me and the waves that gently hit the dock felt like a heartbeat telling me that this was how it would always be but soon, i began to miss the panic just for the simple fact that it was a feeling and the sunset had stolen them all from me leaving me bare, black and stretched high above unable to land on the ground again unable to even blink stars down onto the grass unable to do anything other than wait for the sun to rise again but solstice has already passed and the dark hours grow longer again and i am pulled thin, veiling a world that accepts me as the night and doesn't even miss the stars in time, in rhythm ☊
i looked across and down
and the man's feet tapped out a rhythm into the dark floor of the speeding, jostling bus and the rhythm matched the music that occupied my ears and my fingers pressed the tune into the depths of my pocket and i looked outside the trees, aligned along the road filed past the window one by one and the speed at which they passed my vision matched the even beating of my heart and the drumming of the cracks in the cement that hammered through the wheels and into the soles of my feet and i closed my eyes the words that echoed there in that dark expanse of thought were spoken evenly, echoing into the cavern in strong, reliant waves and the beauty of their timing matched the rhyming of their meaning and the march of my feet upon the sidewalk matched the space between the lyrics marking every single breath and hanging on each letter and i opened my eyes it's funny, because today the skies were open wide and the passing of time was aligned with every inch of my five senses one rhythm underlining each word said one rhythm defining the weight of it all one rhythm combining the moments together and as i went to bed heartbeat thumping in my head i said today just felt to me like a song Internet Strings
I have this visual interpretation
of the internet, where we are all connected by strings, nylon and shining and constantly entwining themselves with each other, electricity shooting through from my fingers to yours in the space of a second, a lifetime of words. It’s beautiful, I think, like a painting or a photograph, surreal and captivating, probably in artsy black-and-white. But this image of myself, hair tied back, one hand scrabbling at the side of my face, waiting for an expression to take hold, and the other chicken-pecking out the words that is so funny while one foot falls asleep under the weight of 1 am, as 2 am falls lightly on my shoulders, settling like an uneven blanket of dust and I cough, ignoring the symptoms of sleep deprivation, rubbing at my eyes as if to stretch the sockets, open wider the windows to my soul, saying here, internet, take all of me- this image is not quite so beautiful. countdown
well, 1:59 am
old friend, here you are again and here i am caffeine coursing through my body and keeping me upright, in tune with the time zones as i wait for 2 o’clock and i have so many words (2 am, there you are) to write, but at this hour i can never tell what order to put them in so my poetry, my thoughts are muddled but whatever, i guess we all have those moments those 2: 01 am moments where the world makes so much sense and you want to scream it out the window to the population of the universe: i understand! i get it now, at 2:02 in the morning i understand everything, ask me anything and i will fix it for you, answer your doubts all-knowing, at 2:03 am sitting solitary in the dark, typing out nonsense and thinking it means something but hey, at least i got enlightenment out of this experience, some realization because seriously i think i get it now but of course, at some point i will go to sleep and when i wake up the revelation will have disappeared sunk back into the deep, into the dark into the 2:04 am of my heart and i will have to wait, counting down until i can feel like this again all-knowing and calm powerful, small and unashamed and i will wait up, time and time again eyes flickering back and forth until i can say hey there, 2:05 am how i have missed you fluorescent
these lights are fluorescent
or something along those lines i am not a scientist but the point is these lights bring an atmosphere to the cement tunnels that can only be described as harsh and here i sit soft and warm under the cold beams feeling all too human and yet not real enough as the tips of my toes wriggle trying to escape the cage of my shoe and my fingers are typing out words that have nothing to do with anything except my inner monologue which has been externalized into poetry and now it is my shield saying see? i have feelings proving that i am not as cold as these unwavering lights there is real fire somewhere within me and i conduct experiment after experiment trying to find that spark and all i end up with is poetry, pooling navy blue in my cupped palms as a reminder to myself that somewhere deep inside the jail cell that my ribs create there might still be a heart and it might still play some small part in my life |
all-nightersweet crunch of dry snow
below my heels, toes cracking as i breathe in through the soles of my feet and inhale winter at its finest at its latest, midnight now and when the sun breaks i'll be inside and will this chill still be with me? tonight, i told myself i am going to find out two hours of sleep dangle above me, a sharp hook that i refuse to take because tonight is not a night for oblivion i've got words in me sharp ones protruding from my spine and soft ones whispering saying, you'll be fine and i don't know who to believe anymore since i cannot believe myself and so i look to midnight, to one in the morning and every hour after just give me the answer, i ask and i'll go gently into the day it's just days like this when something falls into place and i, oblivious don't notice until some clairvoyant seventh sense reads me like a book, and i am opened wide and the time it takes to close back up again is a lifetime within a nighttime and so days like this turn into nights like these sweet crunch of dry snow click my heels, three times and i'm home and i stayed up all night for the first time in my life because i was thinking of you cold cement
cold cement reminds me
of the steps outside school where i balanced myself on the railing and stood on that column feeling better than the people below me cold cement makes me think of the road outside my house and the way the potholes filled with wet maple leaves after a day of autumn rain cold cement, in my mind is that long, straight road hot beneath the summer sun but still cool in the shade, and somehow riding along that stretch was always enough to calm me down cold cement, to me is the end of the line and the transition from earth to rock from open sky to cityscape cold cement, to me is a love-hate relationship, really as it began to grow on me fond memories overlapping the edges of the sidewalk and washing over the toes of my boots and cold cement, today was somehow comforting below me as i wavered between burning and frozen on the steps outside i am no longer alone city slicker pinky swear
roundabout, unsteady weight
of my feet upon the sidewalk, sinking deep into the cracks of drug dealers and ambling adolescents and old mothers and young fathers, and whatever else this city has to offer, its population unknown to me, bewildering since where i come from, everybody has a name and i know it so this is weird the imbalance between known and unknown, the strange feeling of a shift in the atmosphere that follows me the loss of control that i feel when i step down from the bus and make my way through the crowd, feeling drunk and off-kilter, feeling like a drifting newspaper, out of date trying to find some sense of community but instead i find only small relationships each separate from the other each with a different dynamic, a different colour a different reason for staying together a different reason for falling apart (and that happens so much faster here) and yet somehow i find that i like it this way having so many little lives, towns to choose from that there is always somebody, somewhere willing to brighten my day and so i think i’ll be okay, i’ll transition into a city girl, all hardened and shiny and maybe even stylish with only the roots of my home peeking out from beneath my feet, saying don’t forget and i won’t i promise city slicker pinky swear thank you
hey you
i’d just like to offer a silent, heartfelt thank you for a few words that struck me down, falling through that veil of reality and arriving, finally in a place where i was alive for a moment so weird, breathless that i actually held my hand to my chest if seeing is believing, then i truly believe that the palm of my hand saw my heart beat, so hey you i’d just like to offer the smile that cracked my jawline wide open, i’ll hold it in my hands, saying hey you, look what you did you broke me thank you Lola
I bet her name is Lola.
After all, she fits the part, all little girl, sweetheart, bow in hair and storybook ringlets, bouncing down the halls on pretty shoes that I would never wear. I bet she places her small hand on your arm when she flirts, eyelashes ablaze and head tilted, inadvertently charming her way into adulthood. I bet her voice is sweet, crackling with forced sexuality as she melds childhood innocence with the politics of growing up, trying to get the best of both worlds and almost succeeding. I bet her wide smile falters when she walks away, as she realizes the impression she has made and, too proud to turn back, continues down the hall feeling tall and yet invisibly small, little girl, sweetheart in search of rebellion. I watch her, and I wonder what her problem is. I bet her name is Lola. |