Aaron Olson-Reiners, Selfobject 13, 2018 (Artist Website, Instagram)
Acrylic on panel, 40” x 36”
Courtesy of the artist
We take out the photos of the child who has passed,
a little magnifying glass,
a drawing of a tee pee in a wooden box
with the tiny door that opens.
We look inside again
after all this time,
twisting our necks hoping we might see something
she may have wanted us to see
but missed back then.
I am going deaf, sound by bitter sound,
but I can still hear you even in my sleep.
I know this
because I can feel your lips moving.
Conversations begin and end like water from a faucet.
We search
the past for answers and learn
that fish are raining from the sky.
Our bodies are caught in the downfall.
They opened a tunnel in my hand
out of which memories flow.
But I still can’t feel anything, you or myself.
Our triggers hang in the closets
sit on the shelves
or in the kitchen drawer like knives.
The dishes are still in the sink.
I keep looking at the wall
where the pictures were.
It confuses me. My mind wanders sometimes
yet it makes the present mean.
Our names appear on a manifest
where we thought we’d never be listed.
It may be time to board.
I’m listening. I’m listening to what I can.
I know I brought you heartache.
Our bodies ache.
The moon has risen.
I write to free myself of my life.
This could be the only poem I’ve ever written
you won’t know how to read.