Title: Installation of “Russian Doll” poem Size: about 3 1/2 x 11” Date: 27 Nov, 2020
There Are Many Doors Inside Me
They stare at you, but look in me
The key exists, the will does not
If I let you in, the blood flow stops
Sit awhile there’s a chair for you
I’ve made a space for you to fit
I’ve drawn a map, with lines to show
They’ll lead you carefully and slow
Don’t move too quickly
The map will fail, ashes fall
Doors will open, and you’ll leave
Memories collected through a sieve
The chair is cold, warmth has gone
The key exists, the will does not
Please don’t stay too long
Don’t stare, just glance, move on
I ask you now for the key
You’ll look at it, try it
Its weight is heavy, too much
It burns to touch
To hold it close, don’t let it fall
The door holds names
Carved tightly in the wood
But can be ground out if they should
I’ll add more things you like
We’ll talk some there
The room is yours, your spot
The key exists, the will does not
You like me now, but I don’t know
Like what, the room I’ve made
I made the room for you
You’ve used it, no longer new
You’re what I’ve made you
A friend to trust
I’m what you’ve made me
Made only what you’re allowed to see
They look too deep
Please, don’t push don’t shove
Your eyes turn inward to rot
The key exists, the will does not
I’m moving the furniture now
Should I leave this up
Shuffle loveseat and ottoman around
No, don’t leave it there take it down
The carved name is fading
The chair is left alone
No one left to speak
No one’s stares and nothing new
This is good, the feeling’s safe
Closeness is far will fade away
Emptiness, a well-known spot
The key exists, the will does not
The pangs begin again
An aching a bending over
It hurts but it’s not too much to bear
Get up again, detach the snare
Is it how it should be
I don’t care to ask your side
Could this connection be better
I refuse to listen, I like my fetter
My mind is blank, eyes black and shut
It is led, heavy, dark
The blood flow stops, a solid clot
The key exists, the will does not
Jan 29, 2020
Russian Doll
I am made of shells
Neatly they fit, a little puzzle
If the right pieces are found
I’ll work and hide
Each smaller within me
I’m painted well
My smile is shiny and my eyes open
They look as you
Open and remove Parts of me
To try and fit them precisely
Of each nesting doll inside me
Only the way I came
That’s the right way
That popping sound is
The wood opening
And breaking me open
Another pop, another me
Pop, Pop, Pop until
One miniature doll is left
Nestled in several shells
Of the other versions of me
Smaller and smaller
Too tiny to really see
The painted eyes and smile
Pick me up from the other shells
Notice I do not open like the others
This is the final part
The most intimate
The real and untouched
Protected by all the others
Now I can breathe, but the air is not
As sweet as I thought it would be
Put me back within myself please
Close each me
Each stack on itself
To wait again for another pop
Of opening and intimacy
They split for me
Their wood small coffins
For me to suffocate in
March 26, 2020
Grainy Moon
Centered when I follow it
With my eyes and the pit
In my stomach
Blossoms, but I don’t mind it
These feelings which come to me littlemeal
When its round I like it best
I want it to swallow me up
Devour and blossom in me
Agoraphobia in me disintegrating
Let it lead me somewhere alone
Somewhere I know
New now because of its light
Its calming melancholy trucidating my fear
I remember myself now
Its okay I don’t need me
At least not the way I was
Now a dream
Floating mist and slow hazy calm
Maybe to a forest it will lead me
Disappear in the branches and reappear
When I call it
With my voice that lacks sound
I don’t need it here
It knows me and doesn’t need me
To speak here
Here it feels like shadow
Here it feels like loneliness
But the pleasant kind
The kind I can sit with
Where my mind doesn’t
Destroy me with hatred
Instead it gently coasts
Along in an undulating fog
Clouds my vision
Trips me up and stops me
So I can stand still for awhile
Look up into the branches
Count each one
Watch them twist and cut
Each other deliberately
The leaves long since
Removed from their brown
Flaking bark
In the night
The branches are black
They stand out more
They grow eyes
Eyes I don’t see but feel
Follow me longer
Until the daybreaks
We’ll sit here
In silence and understanding
Feb 24, 2020
Static Intimacy
At a certain time
Late at night
Dark and still
I like to see you
Resting, silent
Against the black greyness
Of sky that is your home
Branches brown in the day
Black at night
A certain calming haziness
Falls into me
A glass of separation
More intimate in distance
Than when met in light
Your image is unclear
I imagine your sound
As static, a crinkle
Just enough for me to hear
Reassure me that the night
Is safest when still
And without sound
I desire to stay here
Wrapped in the comfort of
My four walls of isolation
All others away, eyes closed
The moon reflected in the blackness
Of other’s windows I cannot see
Each branch has twisted, frozen
No wind moves
Their spindly fingers
Point to each other
They know me
If I left, walked outside
They would recognize me
Each one an old friend
They would bend
Speaking through the wind
Without words I’d listen
Content and warm
Hoping to keep the sun
That rises away
The weather is cool
But I’m warm
At least for a little while
I’ll stay and sit
When tomorrow comes
The grain will fade away
The window will clear
For the trees
The clouds, the day
Now they will not speak
Staying silent, inanimate
Until night, when the graininess
Allows them a voice again
March 30, 2020