Tuesday, April 12, 2022

in a season of dependence

over here, I'm trying to find the language we lost 
we're the canoe and and I slipped the oars
while asking questions
we're so small

strangeness crawls up my arms, nestles by my ears
little baby bugs overflowing their home 
telling me their stories
about being better

because we cannot know what we do not know
and we're flooded already with memories
we imagine how it will be 
without us 

that canoe thawed free from direction and labor
swept up in the recovery of unknowing
finding new neighbors
in sea and storm


Unknown said...

Ah, I didn't know you had a blog! I'm surely going to have a nice time reading your writing. Don't think I've read much of it since college and our letters.

Also, Vizag? Did I know? I don't remember. My mom is from there. - Thee

maya said...

O M G, Thee!!!! I'm cringing!! I post whatever I have at the end of the day, so the quality is VERY uneven. (Chelli was born in Vizag; I don't think I knew Aunty was from there. We lived across from the university in Waltair Uplands.)

Gillian said...

I like this one a lot. Letting go.

StephLove said...

I like this line: because we cannot know what we do not know.

maya said...

Thank you, dear StephLove and Gillian!!

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