Time moves slow,
times moves slow,
gathers up the edges of June and splatters them towards the rainy afterbubble-gurgle of
I sit. perched and gulping down huge chunks of fresh night air
watching the dust gather in this recycled room of old hunks of memoryflesh.
this is the place. this is the gathering space for all my holy artifacts of the artifice of life.
this is the cocoon for cornered, corrugated connections between me and my memories.
these four walls have safety knitted into their knobbled knees. this gravity collector keeps
my mass of matter momentarily manifested.
this bundle of burdenless housebones have aching joints and jolted points.
this room meets me in the middle and never stops heaving my secrets out the solid square
shh shh- silence the big bells of broken open meaningcatchers
let me listen to the sound of dust mites collecting what I have already given away.
no one is here except absolutely everything I am not.
at last, at last the words fit back into place
like placements of irreplaceable spaces.
Have I eaten
Have I eaten anything
in the past 9 minutes
that was not air, water, pesticide or pain?
Have I swallowed any part of my body
and have I reached out towards the Sun
in ancient, aching praise
half as much as
she is owed?
Have I ever robbed myself of radioactive nutrition
and have I known deeply enough
what it is to be eaten, what it is to be plucked, what it is to be a
mouthful of something meaningful?
What self-deprecating honesty will be enough
to honor the stalk that serves me
that I am served
that I someday become
Lauren Suchenski has a difficult relationship with punctuation and currently lives in Yardley, PA. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize as well as The Best of the Net and her chapbook “Full of Ears and Eyes Am I” is available from Finishing Line Press. You can find more of her writing on Instagram @lauren_suchenski or on Twitter @laurensuchenski.
My favorite souvenir is a small piece of clay from Belize that my dear old friend marked a small symbol onto - the clay is red and still beckons me with warmth. The symbol is haphazard and abstract, but the resonance of memory beams from it - the jungle, youth, and the earth, all baked together.