Poems for Pride: the blues of direction by Ashanti Marshall

on

the blues of direction

by Ashanti Marshall

 

I traded a closet for a corner.
Hesitant to get into what I don’t know about myself.
Unsure if I’ll know what to do with it.
Don’t know if there’s time to change,
            to choose,
                        if I want to.
                                                          Do I want to?
I traded a closet                             for a corner.
Drawn intersections                     that know where they’re going,
                        know where they meet.
                                    Meet but don’t                                       cross.

No merging,
                                                            no meddling.

They think they know all there is to know about themselves.
They think they know everything there is to know about themselves.

All they know is they began,
they’re here now and between the beginning and the present,
a future became                              a dream.

A distant, reaching thing.
Abstract, so we can’t name           it.
Can’t give a look,
            or a feel,
                        a sound or a touch.
Can’t give it those senses,
            can’t make it                        real.

This taints the desire,
            drives it off,
                        pisses it off to the
                                    far reaches of where you began,
as                                                       a dream.

I traded a closet for a corner.
I’m wondering how high              I can jump now.
Since left and right, forward and backward
have been done and left me here.
There’s only up from being this                                               down.

 

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