Self-Musing 4 (poesy)


Applied liberally to others
But like the root that dies
To give sustenance
My tongue fell out of my mouth
Upon looking in the mirror.
You don’t know of the grace
with which I’ve maneuvered through the darkest paths
to no fault of anyone
but the trumpet who so loved its very
own existence, and whose tone I so admired,
that it played its own ballad
for sounds’ sake and I forgot to remind it of my song.
My heart a trapeze artist
I’ve dared take the highest ropes
Knowing balance was not my forte,
so she learned to live hanging by threads
and how to stomach the feeling
of the gut swallowing itself
each time I fall.
Stretch fall bruise jump kick twist
and learn from every perfect landing
and every perfect fall
I’m blooming something beyond myself
and some say if you press your ear to mine
you’ll hear the sound of the sun
An ocean aflame.

One Comment Add yours

  1. augustmacgregor says:

    Wonderfully done, with the images you evoke — and the strength behind learning from landing and falling.


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