La Chercheuse, C'est Moi



Blips on my radar screen that keep disappearing. Trying to shed the imagination like so many skin cells. It's the holding on that hurts, and the letting go that's the b*tch. Falling deeply into others' oceans can be risky. The falling in is easy, the getting out isn't, because it's cold and you're all wet and even putting a towel on doesn't stop the teeth from chattering.

unplugging myself from within. How does this work? Knitting up the tattered sleeve of...

maybe I'm a boat person; the only one left, floating on the ocean, too far away from Cuba to turn back but with no idea how to get to Florida. c'est mon diaspora; je suis la seule, encore, je me trouve toute seule. moi, je suis mon propre diaspora.

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