Sincere thanks to Mariya Mileva for permission to post these three deeply intriguing photo images! Please visit her websites to learn more about her photography. click image above for full size view
spirit in three parts
holding my heart inside my grasp.
holding my heart inside this open bowl.
wondering if the canvas is broad enough.
it thrums inside my fingertips.
fear is one answer between the beats.
meanwhile, oh there’s my back. illumination.
all I see is so dark with crafted shape.
all around my spine, brightness, brightness.
then voices. your name. then mine. found
then lost, two moon ethers, one breath alight.
light becomes arms becomes swimming tails
becomes no memory. someone not me
is writing all this down.
names have elbows. they land like rain.
wind has breath. it begins in the chest.
please, don’t say lies. all those words.
a hand an ear a brow a belly like earth
like a mouth.
here is where the water flows. wings
flutter on the roof. my attention goes.
then you then me then only light.
then one touch. then the river, right.
swimming bright without a mark.
I rake and rake and still there’s more
leaves more thoughts lapping up wet
along my thighs.
no hand would be within reach
without also notknowing lapping
in between our fingertips.
neil reid © march 2012
I was much excited to discover what might come from this series of photo images. What sort of transitions? More to the point, how much could I stand aside, simply listen, allow the images to say what they might. (I get bored often with what feels like my own familiar poetic voice.) While the prompt suggested “story”, I took that as a purely linear progression or response to the transitions, image to image, for this poem. That’s simply next to next, story enough to satisfy.
Almost immediately I found two voices inside how I felt about the images and allowed them a conversation of sorts. While I wasn’t trying to make it that way (so maybe it’s less obvious), neither did I want to condense or suppress those two threads – foreground, background, left or right, whatever whoever they might be.
I feel rather content with the initial primary section of the poem but partly because of the title (three parts), I wanted that to be more overt, thus the two short additive endings, which I do yet feel less certain about (more my own voice?) (and it has been a difficult week for me as well; meaning more doubts). But so be it. We can always say “draft”, but really, why that pretense?