Withdrawing

Memories have always been wild things.

It took me 20 years to learn not to hunt for them,

nor cage them in the margins of a photo.

This is how man clings to what he imagines joy is—

               tightly, wringing a cloth that has never held water.

 

In the first moment of letting go,

something unknown tumbled into my chest

and pooled like warm whiskey.

Untethered I drifted a while,

watching a swift world eddy around my feet—

now I think I would very much like

to stop trying to capture wind;

to let myself be stolen by the sublime and

disappear—a gypsy.

I should like to be carried

               very far away.

I should like to be wild for a time

and hold onto this roaring in my throat.

 

(c) 2014 Marie KR

Untitled

In secret

we all hope for fire,

for the relentlessness—

that whirling mystery we believe to exist

in the proper arms.

This is our private, unanimous crusade.

This is our unjust war

and we are tearing down cities

in a frantic search.

Yet in true Crusader fashion,

we will name no reason

nor waver.

 

(c) Marie KR 2014