Fellow Listers
This is prose poetry. I hope you enjoy it. The poem is called 'feeling'.
and in all the world or how can feeling be and all the world. There is more
than one way of looking at things. The hair across your eyes and that
worried look as if to do the right thing requires a right way of doing
things. As if a plan could ever be constructed that would fit all
eventualities and provide a map across the cultural difference. Sometimes
babies are brown and don’t have blue eyes. And their language at odds with
the language they learn. And how can I still and still not love you so. How
can that be and how can feeling come and go. Or the plans we make and all
the world at your feet. I run the family hotel, stocking the larder,
cleaning hair out of the sink. Did you do that? You did? Well where did
culture go? Down the heritage tube as if to stare back and mock the
ineffectuality of the state of the nation address. House number or name,
street sign etc those things that tell me who you are and where. And every
molecule in all my mind and body jump. Why does that happen? The chemistry
of biology. Disciplined and held apart. I stare at mountains my heart
simultaneously soars and at its soaring sinks to know I’m stuck with all
this landscape and your face
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