Emma Anderson
1: Invocation

a case for recalcitrant intransigence

I am here to unstich the scabs of silence

(seeking to be roused for tea)

i would invoke the darling fish Dory,

but i’ve forgotten what that even means.
 

 

Float through the mad city

sit spin bump choke

me baby, now let go.
 

 

Ever since i realized that there was a difference

between the affirmation that i can accomplish acts

and my inherent legitimacy as a worthwhile being,

joy has become imaginable.
 

 

i have genuflected to the universal goddess,

sat amongst the pews of Christ. Jesus needed wings and sinners,

a savior inventing the saved, and twice

too many times i saw a word on hate—

spiteful, singularly agape.

How simple love and hatred mingle,

but must not a single sinful instance make.
 

 

Under the armchair of the mad candles

bursting precariously into the night,

beside a cri de coeur

an unconditional state of mind remains blind.
 

 

Now i must bow in all directions,

simultaneously and in line,

because transition is the act of doing beyond or driving through,

and i bow to the bringers of light.