2014/03/14

Revelations



(i)
reveal me to my discomfort
for it refuses logical illumination. faithful ferret
enters the labyrinth seeking
(as always) some exiled truth. the human challenge is
i don’t get to choose the prize. if instinctive
integrity presents a mirror i must
bear the sight of my own
distortion. now
we wait.

(ii)
one day in
and the landscape is revealing.
fog has been lifted by animal intent and so far
i’m able to stomach the scenery.
last night there were pains like glass but now
fear is settling. truth
shifts shards around; finally
the picture holds meaning. two-way
mirror invites reconciliation and i let breath drop
deep down in my belly, flushing out
these delicate skeletons of need
and hope. i’m fleshing out by the second and now
can plainly see it is time
to deal with what is right in front of me.
my sight has been crystal
all along, but my inability to digest reality —
obliterating.

(iii)
further along
the walls are a milder mosaic, framing
the journey with unexpected hunger for colour and truth
is now binding. i am simplified. the walls
slide past painting me into stillness and soon
i am the precipice of kaleidoscope. this is
unexpected. i was braced for familiar excavation
of woundedness and not this
emancipation upon the unbroken ground.

(iv)
now a white room
and a square table and i promise
this is not the heavenly cliche it sounds like.
this is final corporeality and i am not confident that i am welcome
here. i muster uncomfortable resolve and face my original
dilemma: i am here completely
now and have no place else to go. holding the hand of my fear that i am
inappropriate by nature i order another
coffee and take my shoes off. filled foamy cup
calls up some resilient glee and i find myself extending
unexpectedly, an invitation into the wilderness.

(v)
but it does not look like he
is in a position to join me here. not yet
says faith though i’m not sure
how much longer these quivering haunches can hold
back from freedom on the grunting ground.

(vi)
my blood finds the beat and limbs become
paintbrushes. i remember myself and learn intimacy
is a dance that happens inside and alone
first.

(vii)
some weeks later and she has popped
back out, a little over-exposed in this light, triumphant and humbling
mumbling something about beautiful black tunnels, hidden
treasure and inevitable shadows. can i grow enough
to inherit the earth, this artfully dappled dirt? she returns
me to my question, disappears back underground.


Anna Minska (Western Australia)

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