life, poetry, prosetry

ventilator to the good darkness

And then there were those open spaces of my youth, stretched out between memory and oblivion like a birthmark. The mitochondrial spaces of summer, lush with hazy green vitality releasing isoprene that like magic mixing beauty and pain braided here and there to make the hills blue when you looked like we all did through air thick with sunshine and easy unknowns.

Spaces of forests explored and persistently wild with thick undergrowth cut through by streams and fauna and man, spaces of battlefields where we’d passively imagine finding traces of those who only a simple span of time before emerged from the stoic treelines to fight less for the glossed-over ideals in our second-rate historybooks than for old farm land by the snaking river that for millennia preceded the highway’s bifurcation, still holding claim though not through ancient custom or rite but through the anachronism of thick books with delicate pages that they eagerly yet without intention allowed to limn the past an impossibly remote, ever-present matter of romanesque words from a language other than their original and it’s all still there, still that, but I am not and never was though like those words I’ve been old and other all my life.

And the years advance simply, without us, like the soundscape of those spaces, humming a song that needn’t be as sad as it sounds, as it fades and I keep learning to speak.

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10 thoughts on “ventilator to the good darkness

  1. Pingback: ventilator to the good darkness – M.

    • Ah what a question. And what an idea. I really should find the time to collect these things into something chapbook-worthy. I simply have no idea who’d like to publish it. Oh, and the title is, if I recall, part of a line from a Tomas Transtromer poem. I’ve been on a kick lately of naming my work with phrases from songs and poems and stories that float through my life. I feel it’s paying homage, and also something of a matter of lovingly repurposing beauty.

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