Sunday, January 29
THERE'S WHAT I THINK AND WHAT I FEEL
and I don't always know which is mine.
Cheek pressed against wood once alive.
When I see the cross on the hill
near Pilgrimage Bridge, part of me is kneeling
inside. I can't turn away fast enough.
Someone else's dreams were stitched
to this connective tissue before I could give
permission. Glia of inherited longings
makes my nervous system the closest thing
to family I don't have photos of.
Fragments linger in my philtrum,
little valley. Psalms trying to find a place
to rest. The bear that shattered the glass
door in my dream brought a message.
Something about quiet.
My weather app says a nearby river
is flooding. Brings to surface another dream:
flooded gymnasium of floating
shoes, people wringing out hats
skin-deep in cloudy water
with a troubling lack of urgency.
I was standing in the water, too.
Willing my feet to dry.
(Patrycja Humienik)