Post-Worldism | Nate Maxson

  • Krysia Jopek
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It’s not a comfort to be aware
That one day I’ll turn inside out
To birth myself again
A deformed question mark like a cattle brand
A husk into amnesia: the bite marks healing over
Like ice on a great lake
Which one of the great lakes, I’m not sure
Whatever the real opposite of having forgotten is
Because it’s not this/ nine in the morning pledges of allegiance for a decade, in English and then Spanish: that’s how they get you
One of these days it will come back to me, of that I am confident and a little nervous
The memory of chlorine blue swimming pools evacuated during a storm/ an old man holding a stethoscope up to the side of a furnace/ presidential candidates dancing The Macarena on live television, the hatred of innocence
Because I am a rememberer: Rembrandt/ elephant kid/ forget-me-never
Something skinned and twitching is going to climb out my throat
Who wants to catch the bouquet?
The knowledge of it should be enough to keep all the air traffic controllers awake when they should be dreaming of red lights and hurricanes and planes with no wheels that won’t ever land whose passengers vote on attempting to rise into the ozone
But first I have to learn to cry openly again and without shame when mother figures die in cartoons (cartoon mothers always die, it’s like a Rorschach test) this is what was taken from me
I’m swallowing the years and they taste like rain
If getting my ability to be wounded by beauty again means I have to say the devil’s (or to be precise, your devil’s) name in the mirror three times in the dark then so be it
If that’s what it takes to return to my theoretical ability to swim without breath, to breathe light and grow wildflowers in my hair: this impressionable surgery, what I had once and will have again/ time, time and the icebergs and crocodiles waiting in its stream, let them swim to me this time
My messiah complex dictates that before I can save anyone else I have to pull myself out, pull myself apart first in the most publicly naked way possible
I’ve been patient, very patient as I drank the water seeping into my flooded casket before it could drown me
This time it’s the world that’s going to have to wait

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