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

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