Point of View For Jennifer Rachael Ikins I dont know why I start to read certain poets from the books last page, backwards all the way front. Maybe it is the same reason I was standing on my head in the photo of me in your email. Why some wounds only appear to heal. The proud flesh skims thick as callous, conceals the throb within. Takes just one phone call or daylights fade-to-opal for it to hurt. Perhaps cold exacerbates the pain. I dont know. Once, I wouldve needed to tell the whole story, needed closure, secrets peeled back like shell from an oysters pearl. Once I wanted forever, always and immortality. In recent months after a year of dyings Ive learned there is no forever. Just as the world appears other when you stand on your head, blood filling your face purple and froth of giggles, so, too, will one always move into horizons embrace alone. What is life then but all these partings and hellos and isnt it good to have your companys on the journey, til you die and I find you silent cold by the barn door where you always waited for me, October nights. Others step into the dance to partner with me awhile. The light wavers across stiff frosted grass, flame cupped with pumpkin hands, a soul light, your grave, the route home.
Posted on: Fri, 29 Nov 2013 21:22:01 +0000
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