Anonymity

by doreen peri

Posted to Action Poetry on 2001-08-09 17:53:00

Anonymity

And if you told me that you had no name,
no past, no pain, no home, no inner voice —
I might assume this rare anomaly
was charred in coals upon your core by choice.

And if you said the earth is flat, inert,
and that the sky had vanished in a mist —
I would not scoff, but vow to acclimate.
Intrinsic truths preclude how words persist.

But if you said with unfeigned speech aloud
that journeys toward the center of your memories divide —
and that the twists and turpitude of wonder fill a cloud
with raintears wrapped in plastic coats where clutters coincide —

Well, then I’d be in wonder of the depths within your breast,
and probe toward the enigma of identity suppressed.

I have no magic wand.
I can’t erase the dawn.
I wake to find
ten years have come and gone.

Within the swift and fleeting, dark deceiving
haste of Time,
I sit and greet the twilight soon receiving
stolid Rhyme.
The Muse it writes the words for me.
I know not whence they come.
I follow beats and patterns of a cryptic Congo drum.

Inside the glass, I see myself.
I’m standing on my own.
And yet I am invisible, my vision overthrown.
As if my mirrored face could somehow speak or verbalize,
I ask aloud vague questions as I search behind my eyes.

The answer comes but lips don’t move.
Is this some parlor game?
I answer me by saying this:
I do not have a name.

And then ensues an argument parlayed by twists of truth;
a harsh dispute entwined with rage of disappearing youth.
And as I tell myself I have no name,
no past, no pain, no home, no inner voice —
I soon assume this rare anomaly
is charred by coals upon my core by choice.

I say the world is flat. And yet I know it’s not.
I say the sky has vanished in a mist.
I hard persist and scoff, but vow to acclimate.
Intrinsic truths preclude how words persist.

And soon I scream with unfeigned anger loud
that journeys toward the center of my memories divide —
and that the twists and turpitude of wonder fill a cloud
with raintears wrapped in plastic coats where clutters coincide —

My image is in wonder of the depths within my breast.
I probe toward the enigma of identity suppressed.
I walk away from mirrored halls to unscaled walls beyond.
I will not argue with a face which has no magic wand.


(c) doreen peri
all rights reserved