When asked point blank what my diagnosis would be, if there should be one,
“Afterthought?” I said. “Some form of mania?”
How would it be to observe from a distance love uncapped.
Weather so unpredictable.
Woman so untethered.
What would it feel like for a man with stones and hollows?
Rivets and corners, barricaded and fragile.
Solid but mute.
Here is the holy grail of my mind.
I’m unaware even hearing myself speak it.
I’m tired of avoiding time alone.
I’m wading in it.
Like a marionette, you take it in and only sometimes your eyes waver, lose focus.
Occasionally you’ll pull away.
Away from cliffs of blue fallow, fields of permission.
Rocks of sanded citrine.
About the Poet:
Melissa M. Frisch is a poet, yogi, and mother based in Kingston, N/Y.. Their work explores themes of love, relating, philosophy and personal reflection.
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