Saturday, June 18, 2022

41

When writing was a way back in, the way was a holding, breath, the rhythm of a hot morning before anyone else in the house wakes up. There were drinking games that no one seemed to fully know the rules to and a series of unanswerable questions. Hands taking hands: there, beside the river with a full moon rising over us—I mean so many of us, so many moons and how many futures. A dedication is simple: a direction (an unknowing).

Cristina Rivera Garza says that we are usually confronted with either an excess of language or its total loss. Words obscure us from each other. When I showed my poem about our meeting on the bridge to some friends, someone suggested navigating along its underbelly. And where would that place us? And where would we go?
 

No comments:

Post a Comment

48

I know, I know. I get distracted and come up with an excuse. I needed to clip my nails, didn’t I? The new year happens and is celebrated in ...