and there is in all of this a wish to disappear
to obliterate our old selves in a
burst of glittering gold
emerge phoenix-like from our own ashes
the pyre of history
the stubbled field of our ancestors
before the coming of the seed
I owe you nothing that you cannot
get for yourself
there is no debt between us
your unasked for gifts
left at the side of the road
leading to un-ceded territory
I owe you nothing in return
for all the nothing you have given me
as we meet empty-handed on the precipice
all of us straining for
a glimpse of
tomorrow
(2023)
This poem is part of a semi-published series called Body of Work, an ongoing dialog with identity and self-knowing.
thefixer.home.blog 