LONELINESS, Kimo Armitage

by Kimo Armitage
I am close to dying
but today I will try to sit up.
I wish to feel
the sun on my face, and
touch my toes to the pond’s surface,
across these mossy spaces, a breath  
from tiny, labored
heart chambers, below
my voice, a gasp above
my ribcage pulled tight &
crosswise through seasons.
Gentle Autumn fools me
into believing that it is Spring.
I hunch over in grief for this lily,
a flower of the water,
near where I raised my children
that I held in my arms.
My journeys have ended,
to the jagged cliffs of Isle of Man,
to the snowy lands of New Zealand,
to the royal castles of Japan.
I wear this cold wind
like a blanket, it carries
the smell of the ocean and
heaps the seaweed into bunches
on the shoreline.
My ecstasy, the first
unfurled fronds,
as dragonflies buzz
in empty spaces.
Minutes amble unfulfilled,
before a calm rain heals.
Perhaps I am polluted, unworthy
my rapture, unrequited
this silence as willows cast
crooked shadows
across my face
in the breeze,
I am dancing now.
I leap.
My soul, now
a flower.
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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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