2022-10-17 #writing/poetry #poem-a-day
on a foggy saturday morning, i embrace surrender
& all I can do is tell my thoughts to shush but clearly they learned from my pre-pubescent years, promptly ignored me and kept on screaming like millions of nerves when i stub my toe I remember my body is not my own. it feels things i cannot control the shrinking of my world not the blade of grass shivering or the shit when it doesn’t come out or smoke a life is snuffed.
on a foggy saturday morning, i embrace surrender
my thoughts are stampeding again migrating between the cold of a moonless night and the warmth of a red leaf. my body is not my own it feels things i cannot control the shrinking of my world trance of a blade of grass shivering steam rising from morning coffee a smile fawning the embers
Before I lived in a world where planning made the very life I live, I was a fungi. My roots planted deep, spread across networks and networks of networks connected to places that I never knew existed
Before I remembered how to control myself I knew the name of abandon
She taught me how to abandon my own name, to plant it in exposed patch of dirt behind my house and offer it to be reclaimed by the earth.
In exchange for my name, I became a container for the endlessly giving sunshine, for the drops of rain jumping over each other down a car window for exchange itself and this poem, this conversation
between you and you. There is no I, there is only a vessel here. This poem and me and you. Through which I give the gift of release the kind that slips but never falls
I gave up my crutches for wings that burn. Abandon is the only survival technique I know. Surrender. Yes, you already have.