Poem: My Place Is Not Prepared For Me

 

My place is not prepared for me.
Instead I am to carve it from stone with my fists.
My place is not prepared for me.
I must hollow it out of my own belly,
and it must house all.
The road is not ready, the path must be cut,
the hand doesn’t reach, the rope isn’t tied.
I must find my own hand holds.
The legs I walk on are my own,
the feet that tire will be my own,
to hold this piece of sky in my eyes,
for the moment that both persist.

 

e.l.elasigue 2017 (2015)

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