Chop — Slow and Strong
His slender fingers gained masterfully the honour
of reminding me how much I need this to end
Stronger, I take breaths in, stronger
when everything else relaxes, my chest bones tighten
These twenty-three minutes are exquisite. His speed
and smile, didactic. Dialectic. Dramatic.
I’m the dramatic one, I know, embarrassed of my own self
from my body to my friable nature. A brittle mind, I guess.
Nine minutes in and I’m reminded of the turbulent times in which I wrote gently about lucky skin talismans. A voracious love ours, devouring everything
My dear man, my dear woman on the bed, of me is left only drama;
your eyes, your eyes, could drive me to better places
My mother, driving me to where the seaside is lower than the sea
rocks and pebbles , rendering strident waves taciturn. Silence.
The sun, silence. But here the music, and I hear the music
I’m grown up!
I’ve grown up!
I’m… not ready to end, not ready to continue. We can’t live — like this — with or without me.
