This felt like a poem about exile from the self. The image of love as a traveling island stayed with me, but the ending struck deepest: we spend our lives leaving and returning to ourselves.
There is something of the animal self that must be exiled in order to treat everyone with the respect their spirit reserves. We can’t just be bodies clanging in to each other. Even if that’s what the body wants!
However this side of the self can’t really be exiled, as it lives inside us and “travels with us.” You’re right on about my intentions for the poem. Thank you for reading so closely, Jeanne.
“and pulled again between the / slightly parted mouths // of anxious ferry women / who stay buckled in their cars”
Bars 🔥
I do a lot of driving kids around. Among the plentiful images, that one chimes as I buckle- up once again.
This felt like a poem about exile from the self. The image of love as a traveling island stayed with me, but the ending struck deepest: we spend our lives leaving and returning to ourselves.
There is something of the animal self that must be exiled in order to treat everyone with the respect their spirit reserves. We can’t just be bodies clanging in to each other. Even if that’s what the body wants!
However this side of the self can’t really be exiled, as it lives inside us and “travels with us.” You’re right on about my intentions for the poem. Thank you for reading so closely, Jeanne.
Gorgeous x
<3 the other name for this poem is Seagull because I can imagine a seagull frantically typing all of it with his beak. I am a seagull
This is beautiful, Ootheca.
Thank you Seed! The man I am today sprouted from this very poem, in many ways