archives, poetry

Oasis: I Have Found a Place. {poetry}

{source}

I have found a place amidst the wasteland of myself.
You can see straight through to the bottom
clear, and bright like liquid serenity.
It sits, without a request of forgiveness,
still, and then unbridled.

I have found a place amidst the desert of myself.
It lounges, unchecked and indecorous,
with unmatched beauty.
It holds the pieces of our past;
millions of glimmering sand bits,
of hope.
Jawbones and giant hunks of a mountainside
rest beneath the current as it consumes history
bleeds our tales in the tides.
Ecstatic palms shoot out their arms in desperation;
they yearn for a taste of the ocean.

I have found a place where I can be of myself,
where the sun can whisper to my bones
after a deep chill
where I can melt away as
the aqua tongue continues licking
licking, licking the edges
and the shoreline has no choice but to melt with me,
pulled into that slow dance.

I have found a place that reminds me of myself
floating over, and under, the peaks
being drawn far away to dark water
that does not resemble this place. My oasis,
verdant on its soft jawline,
asks me to close my eyes
erase the memories etched behind these lids,
eradicate the rotten innards of my skull,
pluck the tangled kelp from my bowel.
With a constant hand,
The dark spots are smoothed away
and left gleaming in rebellion.

I have found a place that is the savior of myself
The waves of this place, the humming
and pulsing of the sea
can be seen across the yellow beams of sunlight
and heard when,
softly and hidden,
the moon chants to the water
cooing, flirting from far away.
I have sat here for a while,
translating their songs;
they fed me new words
and I realized how little I know
of love and its thunder
and the magic that floods between beings.

I have found a place that I made of myself
It changes shades of blue
but always beckons you closer.
I don’t know if it’s really there,
except when I can feel the powdered sugar
sand between my thoughts,
and the crystals have changed my lips into
salty soft pink geodes.
I know it’s there when I close my eyes
and the ruffled leaves wordlessly chatter to themselves
and I see their mouths move;
I see the way they bow, also
in awe of the place
I have found.

***

Kate Kenney is a freelance writer who recently transplanted from California to Colombia (and must learn Spanish ASAP). She is a firm believer in travel, and hopes to use her experiences to write articles to raise awareness and connection to the human condition. Her poetry anthology will be finished one day, this she knows for sure; the date is elusive.

***

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