Emma Anderson
1: Invocation
a case for recalcitrant intransigence
I am here to unstich the scabs of silence
(seeking to be roused for tea)
i would invoke the darling fish Dory,
but i’ve forgotten what that even means.
Float through the mad city
sit spin bump choke
me baby, now let go.
Ever since i realized that there was a difference
between the affirmation that i can accomplish acts
and my inherent legitimacy as a worthwhile being,
joy has become imaginable.
i have genuflected to the universal goddess,
sat amongst the pews of Christ. Jesus needed wings and sinners,
a savior inventing the saved, and twice
too many times i saw a word on hate—
spiteful, singularly agape.
How simple love and hatred mingle,
but must not a single sinful instance make.
Under the armchair of the mad candles
bursting precariously into the night,
beside a cri de coeur
an unconditional state of mind remains blind.
Now i must bow in all directions,
simultaneously and in line,
because transition is the act of doing beyond or driving through,
and i bow to the bringers of light.