on the printed page, everything 2 dimensional

it's impossible
to paint a three dimensional picture on a page
to tell you who I am, to describe who I love
to remind you
if you've known me forever
what my character is made of
who built it
laid foundation
set bricks
and painted the mortar.

here,
in this fluid space
I am who you decide I am.

you read a sentence
and make your decision
and I am my words
on that date
in that context.
.

it's an impossible place,

this.

caught, shot, trapped
figured out
found out
exposed
stripped

I have no adjectives to protect me
no verbs to drive the getaway car
no iambic pentameter to dance until midnight to.

just me and the page
black but for little etches and scratches

bites and pokes
laid just so
to mark my way.
you
are just a page turn away.

.

it's alright
I can be your paragraph
your flash in the wordy and crowded pan

because I'm too large
too grand
to fit on a page
my story has yet to have an ending
I am non fiction in fiction
mis shelved, misplaced, mistaken

I'll just shake off a few ampersands, a hundred too many hindering commas,
    holding me back,
and step into a new chapter
or knock on Mr. Joyce's door when I want to be
one very very very long sentence.

somersault down a hill filled with wildflowers and nettles
both

,

bending serifs
but not beyond recognition
and
be all mortal and shit
when I want.

.

I am not two dimensional,
no.

but there a lot of words
too many, perhaps,
and they will continue to arrive
until they don't.

Comments

[Vasu]

Juicy prose.., what inspired that?

o, you know, the usual: family, conflict etc. ~ sfl

[WILLY]

Has it been a long time since you have been with family? Connecticut or San Francisco much more in sync. Florida does things... Get out without getting scratched...

[Sarah]

I *love* this post. Thank you, Shuna.