I'm working through the 6+ months of backlogged film that's been living in my desk drawer. When I let film sit this long, once the roll is developed it's like I am looking in on a world that existed so fleetingly that I am far past being able to ever process or understand it wholly. So much has happened since these were taken, around early September of 2021, but it also feels like they were taken yesterday. I do not check in on myself; I do not give myself space to feel more than I have to. I haven't journaled routinely in almost a year. But how do these feelings pass the time while I ignore them? They become stones in my soul. A fog and a further distance from myself. Sometimes I look at myself and only see wasted moments and blurry years. But there are more photos to share and poems to write and feelings to feel. So, once again and one million times over, I decide to begin.
Showing posts from March, 2022
Red songbird, with your cardinal screams / and carnal knowledge / with me, of me / on this first day of spring. You scream for your life above my head - the closer I listen, I hear a song you once wrote about wishing to be loved. You perch silhouetted on telephone lines against a cloudless blue sky, red body like a wound. [something bright, then holes?]* Fly to a new branch, move closer, sit right above my head. If I say your name on Earth out loud, will you hear it for what it is? Were you always on the inside / screaming / singing / for release? You are so bright, red songbird, but I look down for just a moment and I lose you between shadows of branches. I lose you over again, each time - maybe in each life. I become lost in my mind and in a moment, you are gone again as quickly as the seasons change / as quickly as a frightened bird flies.