This is forward motion, suspended. This is animation slowed to stopping. This is unrest. And there is an entity that manifests of me. She is haunting me…plaguing these empty rooms with past lives strewn across the floors. She bears my faces…she bares my face and there is the strangeness, the uneasiness of dark corridors and movements in shadows.
I have a spot on my back, to the left and beneath my left shoulder blade. It is bruised, I think. I can only guess because it is not a place for my eyes to look…it is not meant for my eyes. And there are rooms tucked beneath that spot. I don’t know what that means, but there are rooms there, nonetheless, and they hold things born of slow moving power, magma tides that upend the world. Or maybe it’s courage making stalagmites, pushing up from the floor of some bottomless place inside me. I’m not sure there is a difference. Maybe the cartilage and muscle beneath the skin…the same skin upon which there is a birthmark the color of my mother…it’s just a raw place, a soreness birthed into flesh by way of the afterbirth of exposure. …either way…
And I keep catching myself peeking out of shadows looking at me. I’m not scared though. I know what I see…what I see when I look at me. I’m beautiful, and I’m broken. It ain’t much…but it’s enough…
I am bare earth.
(November 26, 2007)
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