They Will Sew the Blue Sail

End Solo | Stacey Tran

Hélène Cixous pointed out, “Who hasn’t accused herself of being a monster?”

you put the bag on your head

I put the bag on my head

you wear spectacles designed for two people

I wore an assortment of masks

there is poetry in a matchbox

small hinged forms, this way and that

a woven mesh over my head

a clear animal presses up against my face

there is something here to do with touch and balance

caught between a point-of-view and a pile of rocks

you dreamed of this road

I dreamed of watching you turn the bend

disappearing and not disappearing

somewhere you are holding this piece of paper

you’re raising your eyes, the up of it pulling you through

just think of how a mountain would show feelings

the green light like a whisper, a rope

there was dirt on my hands and I was thirsty

you stop and listen to the sky-white clouds

ink-lit sky