Monday, March 9, 2015

What's falling, really?

One of these poems was published in Truck, (edited by Alex Cigale) in a more traditional form.  The other, written around the same time (five or so years ago), has been waiting.  Wondering if the prose form will serve me.  It's nice to post here.  Been a while.

Risky Business
 That time you gave me hope and pulled it back so fast I skittled into a whale and hid. The She didn’t lure me out to find not even one righteous soul and She is the almighty though a big know-it-all though She does.  It was a skittle like Tom Cruise’s on waxed hardwood in his unders. A clear sail was Tom Cruise’s which I hoisted to escape whale’s belly.  Me and She know beast bellies as basements sloshy with whitewash cans and matted stirrers floating on browny water.  Jonah and me have seen middle depths contained. Spit up. 

 Forgetting to wear the fringed scarf you wove that’s yours to warm your fragile neck so vulnerable. What’s falling, really?  You know and unknow revelations and splendors. Some leaps end in a crevasse helpful with rungs. As physics plays out, She feels your twingy innards. Doesn’t mind reciprocal omissions. Clouds delay sacred joinings but there’s safety in being grounded.  Our universe suggests abandonment is a lie. Not convinced? Doubt provokes a shaken fist She might not even see.

Sarah Sarai. 2015.

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