SOC Writing_ 18th November 2020

Forgetting you

Forgetting you be like riding a bike, I never really remember how to forget you. Your face. Oh, your face. Just that in the specific space. I hold your face and I am undone. Undone. From all the baggage I carry in this moment, this twinkling, your forever stare – star light – star might take us to another planet – might be stopped in it’s tracks by your inability to follow me, take my head and be lead to where you do not understand – do not want to go. You turn over and your back is a country I want to own, to mark, to traverse and in it’s emptiness, my tears are welling and falling – welling and wetting my face in the most beautiful way – to cry – not dry eyes when you back is turned to me - and yet I am forgetting you – because, because, because – I don’t know why. You have arisen once again – a cypher for all women I must forget to some level – the mother gaze, the boundary that must be erected in some degree of anger or you would not know I meant business. Business hours are over and the business socks are off as I glide into my own mirage of sweltering heat and desert images. The flagellated monk stands on his pole - wanting – wanting the divine - wanting the encounter – wanting to be taken over by some force beyond his own making – and yet it does not seem to happen in this way – by force – the gentle way in is the way to be overwrought – the grass is greener when you start with a small entrance - something soft and un–grand – build to a crescendo then die, die down child, son, lift your head once again and meet my eyes – there find our strength together. I tell my daughter: she is strong and brave and beautiful – and I am telling myself this very same thing – my strength, my courage, my bravery is something I must return to each day – as I must do now.