Meditation On Seasons Of The Body

Summer comes first. Always, summer comes first with a sunlight-like weight upon your shoulders. Everything, everyone is a light bulb, a candle that cannot be blown out despite the murderous winds. Pleasure dresses the unknown. Wonder builds an unexplored city. Doors open doors that open doors that expose your eyes to the play areas of enjoyment: mountains of dreams, slides of hope, clouds for trampolining. But spring comes next: the realization of the mirror, the blossoming of other eyes upon you. Thorns grow where they’re not supposed to and bars fence in your heart. Winter storms in like a hic … cup. Here, frozen faces stop smiles. Invisible clouds shield you from the forgotten warmth of yellow. Longing impregnates your mind, swallows softer thoughts until they sink below the surface of love. And finally you enter the fall, lose your footprints amongst the leave-carpeted floor. Some days your eyes are green and some days they are red. But most days your eyes are so black that you forget about the changing of the seasons.

(Originally published at the Eunoia Review here.)

3 comments on “Meditation On Seasons Of The Body

  1. Lia says:

    Really beautiful… beautifully described.

  2. I found this seasonal/emotional/corporal prose- poem to be full of unexpected metaphors and sensations. I read it twice and pondered the coal black eyes in the dead of winter or the 60 watt summers, wondering why they stay this way, most of the time. Intriguing Benjamin!

    • This was at a time when I was attempting to create poetic histories of words/ideas through prose poems. Always wanted to write many more like this, and hopefully it’s something I’ll get back to. You’re very kind; thanks for the heartening encouragement!

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