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Of Landscapes Past
by Felicia Aguilar
Swing States by Aaron Jasinski
Raised white scars the color of ghosts-
they stare up at me from the reflections
of glass. These are my collection of bones,
the weak sinew that connects me to what I
once was, to who I am now.
Parts divided by jagged lines, bordering
geographies of sadness, of landscapes that
I grew accustomed to, multiplied by too
small sums of happiness because I preferred
the ugly.
My namesake is happiness, and that is why I
travelled beyond equations to find it. I can
look in the mirror and fit the pieces now,
figure out the complicated math that adds up
to the whole of myself.
Fear is no longer a factor.05/13/2005 Posted on 05/14/2005
Copyright © 2024 Felicia Aguilar
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maureen Glaude on 05/14/05 at 10:32 PM a very intelligent and original idea, well-told.
To think of one's own topography and landscape.
Excellent. Other than the "to and "multiplied by too" slowing me down a little, (I found them too close together, oops, now I'm doing it,) I found this so articulate and beautiful. Poignant. |
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