fish bone

Who are we
and how did we come
to be these bodies
in this place?

What right do I have to feel unworthy,
worthy?
What’s worthy?

How can it be authentic,
when I don’t (won’t) feel?

What if my authentic
steamrolls yours?

Therein lies Suffering.
Unless, I guess…

I am you,
you, me,
your Suffering’s mine
(and Joy)?

Because I act, not of body-feeling,
but tugged by invisible
threads that tie

you

to

me.

Your reverberation in turn:
jangly-staticky-urgent-mute.

Fish bone in my throat
pricks
sticks
and disapparates to phantom feeling that I
swallow
and swallow
and swallow.

2 comments

1 Jessica Sage { 07.26.13 at 4:46 pm }

Great poem! Very telling … “What if my authentic
steamrolls yours?”

Not possible I tell you. So.. Now you can breathe.
And how interesting you posted this on my 30th bday. I like.

Keep up the great work, Jessica. This is a great blog. And suddenly, I can’t remember how I was lead here. Serendipity.

2 Jess { 08.04.13 at 1:53 pm }

Serendipity, indeed! I’ve been needing permission to breathe freely, so thank you sister-stranger! I appreciate you.

I’ve received two lovely comments in the past two days on this blog I update so infrequently… right at a moment when I’ve been feeling a need to return to it. Isn’t it funny that we get what we need when we need it, if only we can have the presence to pay attention? Gratitude.

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