[Rebecca F. Wallace, YAC 18-19]

Y.E.A.R.S.
Yearning Experience and Advice, Right from Self

 

 Session 1

-2 years

 “It’s the comfort of a dark place,

the fingers one can imagine reaching for one’s legs

through a maze of slain dragons and angel tears.”

0 years

“It’s always like, really cold on the basement floor,

irrefutably, non-negotiable,

freezing wasteland of ice, snow, and pink hair ties.”

+5 years

“That stops right where the land dips away,

and there is space, followed by time,

and both of them kinda walk up to you,

and ask where you where this morning,

and you say nowhere, because there is nowhere else.”

+10 years

“There are infinite pages,

 my mind dripping ink intolerably slow onto impressable ivory.

The world out loud in sheet music, too frantic for hundreds of fleeting gazes to pierce.”

Session 2

-2 years

Clocks run in rings,

pulling us back

to our own cold faces

forever un-changed,

Make your twin as perfect as possible, the ticks are eating your only infinity.”

0 years

“One second out of a year I see the cold truth of it actually walking away.

I pretend time is forever,

I pretend I am forever,

because I have forever every second.

Until I don’t, and then I just don’t.”

+5 years

“Oh, the monotony of rain.

It is the same, it is

Ants

and

Bees

and

Grass

and

Tress

and

Petals

and

Me.

And it is everything else pitifully endless in its own fragile finitely”

+10 years

“Time is the construct that lets us believe in changes, in endings, in beginnings,

and the illusion of something in-between.”

Session 3

-2 years

“There are walls over there, and then it dips and this just sits here.

Silver, I remember.

Burning hot, glassy spires all frozen at the second they should have reached me.

Just this endless moving.

Not going anywhere,

just moving.”

0 years

“I guess it is just kind of, what I have control of? Maybe?

There is this and I can touch my arm,

but who can touch who’s arm and who is doing the noticing?

It like a maze, just goes on and on, and I can say I don’t see an end

But I also can say I won’t ever believe there isn’t one.”

+5 years

“I don’t know,

I still don’t know if there is a goal to the twisting walls, to the endless.

I want that end though.”

+10 years

“I always remember July,

its just heat for the sake of heat.

And sandboxes.

Worlds infinite, cradled in chipped imperfection

grubby with life’s messiness.

Just there

Always.”

Session 4

-2 years

She is chewing her nails,

 they are stubby,

 the skin underneath, red, blistering, calloused.

“Don’t let me down.”

0 years

She is playing with her pencil,

It’s matte black, highlighted with red,

I can hear the lead clicking around its metal inside

“Balance.”

-5 years

She has cracked her knuckles to punctuate almost every paragraph,

She does it again.

It’s a hollow sound.

I hate it

“Be lost, it will be good for you.”

-10 years

She is perfectly still.

Her eyes always on me.

Kinda cold, kinda bored.

Gone.

Or maybe just different.

Do I want to be that?

“I don’t know.”

= Now

“Thanks

I think that might have helped, I have the tapes.”

“No, no, I haven’t listened to them again.

It just a lot you know.

I mean there is nowhere new anymore.

But there is also nowhere new anymore.”

“Yes, I would recommend this.

It’s…..you know useful.”

“Yeah, just as the pamphlet says, ‘know yourself,’”

now i do

Rebecca F. Wallace

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