I was cleaned today.
I was put away / high upon a shelf,
safely out of sight.
Left to macerate like some specimen in a jar.
Emotions raw – from entanglement.
Knife separates flesh from desire / sinew from pain.
Devoid of contrition - my penance is great.
Parmenides walked an ancient shoreline pondering existence.
The sand beneath my feet is real,
yet it flows freely from my hand – back into the sea.
Dispersed throughout vast oceans,
its identity is lost.
I am trapped in a world of my own sins.
If existence is freedom,
then do I cease to exist?
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020 and 2021,” published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 13 poetry books. lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: Sparks of Calliope; The Closed Eye Open, Poetic Sun, Tangled Locks Journal, Wild Roof Journal, The American Writers Review, The Scribe Magazine, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Pomona Valley Review, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Fourth & Sycamore.
*(a complete list of publications is available upon request)
Powerful write. We can be trapped in our own world in our head.
ReplyDeleteI rather be free than a specimen in a jar.. Great poem
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