Going to and from somewhere not far,
I pass a couple of children on scooters
shouting, Ice Cream!
from across the street.
When I dare to raise my eyes to look out
instead of down at my shoes as I walk
I instantly see faces of strangers,
crying- Eyesore. I know they are right.
But nobody is selling what I want.
It does not seem producible.
It is not a house on a corner, the size and charm
of a dormitory, with window treatments.
It is not those shoes my sister likes with the red soles
or sunglasses my mother likes with the diamonds
or the endorphins or the caffeine or the career ladder.
I do not covet Ice Cream, the biggest or best thing,
and I don’t have romance for pipe dreams either.
That is someone else’s dream,
unexceptional, formless, but probably fulfilling.
I hope I am never fulfilled.
In my hand there’s a digital map that orients me
in a roundabout. I am a breathing oscillating blue dot.
I can’t get anywhere from here.
Why do I not want Ice Cream or summer dresses?
Why do I not want to be out on the town, meeting new people?
Why do I not participate?
I watch people on television, traveling.
I am so scared.
I listen to Neil Armstrong radioing from the moon.
I scan the transcripts over and over of
Earhart circling Howland Island:
We are unable to hear you
to take a bearing.
Intermittent despair- what can you make from that?
I look up to see the sun caught in the tail end trail
of a jet. I wave:
Do you hear my signals.
And then all my thoughts are frostwork and blue
with parachutes and windows on walls
and I am filled with clouds and I can’t see.
We cannot hear you.
We cannot see you.
Now I know I begin and end with images,
how far across this field can my voice spread out,
extend and reach in singing, in screaming?
A recent graduate of University College London with an MSc in Social Neuroscience, I am now studying independent film-making because of a particular creative calling. I have also enjoyed learning British Sign Language, and have a great interest in languages, generally- etymology, linguistic relativity, and the phenomenon of lost words. I make T-shirts, mostly featuring images of Beat poets. I have been published in an anthology called Brainstorms a few years ago, and in the inaugral issue of the online literary journal Wildness.