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eppur si muove
by Betania TeschThe delusion of your car
pulling up the drive
comes to me first in auditory form,
and I think
your arrival seems
like an ultrasound--
a gentle whooshing,
rhythmic undulation
of your tires
crunching gravel against gravel--
life inside of
your metal womb
pulsating Morse code
to my belly--
to my house
and into my open summer window
which anticipates your birth.
Still I open my abdomen
and find no traces of you.
The drive is still
with emptiness.
(Eppur si muove.)
(And yet it does move.) 05/31/2002 Posted on 05/31/2002
Copyright © 2025 Betania Tesch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Agnes Eva on 04/06/03 at 04:42 AM wonderful description of synaesthesia, very much inside the moment. i truly enjoy it, and think this way sometimes. excellent poem (though for the life of me i can't sound out the title phonemes coherently) |
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