Sunday, December 13, 2015

upriver (14.09.23)

…and i drift.

Watching skies blacken as the smoke rises from great grandmothers burning. Steady columns feeding day skies darkened by clouds heavy with rain. No silver linings. Just dreams of flower blossoms under cotton candy clouds.

A break in the clouds and sun rays, stubborn, smile onto these waters. Laughter i once again hear and remember, tension melts. Before i can study and appreciate all that’s on the surface, roots grab hold and i slowly inch toward her depths.

Depths brighter and clearer than surface. Nursing princess pawikan with voices of underwater swamp creatures. Deeper. Plains transport with points spiral. Deeper. Sirens defiant in keeping scales. Deeper. A wizard’s hat atop submerged tree stump. Rings under brim full and jagged with laughter and mitts.

Deeper. Appreciation for the bands that follow.

Diaphragm relaxes and contracts as I drown. Eyes shimmer.

Inch Higher. Drowning bark from burning strips of grandmother deciphered. Swirl of chaos weaves disorder to a narrative non-linear. Higher. Currents going against convention, one with nature, upriver.

Higher. Eyes cutting, lips biting against curses and ridicule.

Higher. Inhaling oppression. Exhalation: regal.

Inch higher. Emerge. Release.

Free. To dive her depths and skim surface. To get lost in admiration of riverbed and riverbank contour, waters sheen and white.

And i can stay here. Wade for a lifetime. Find solace and inspiration, growth, as my body decays. Journey on and find my way back to her waters in the different faces of shape-shifter. Over and over until the dark clouds heavy with thunder and rain join her in quelling what scorches ancestors’ remains. Until these clouds smooth and sharpen, mimicking the land and animals around her, letting day skies blue and night skies flicker.

But these waters may not be meant for this lifetime. The currents that i need to follow may lie elsewhere. But just in case, bits of her waters i take. Waters and debris heated by words reverberated, and they slowly rise and condense. My dream of cotton candy takes shape. Against a backdrop of gloom and breaks- through.

Rising. Into the vast ocean that’s neither day nor night. Past camembert sphere where disappointed moonwalkers once, in solidarity, drank milk in place of wine. Dissipating and condensing, forming cluster of stars, near. Out of reach but in sight. Providing map to her waters of solace. Narrative retellings through glimmer, faint.

A constellation as consolation under skies, ominous.

and i drift…

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