Thesis: I'm a nice little cooing dove
head tucked under wing
The world keeps coming. It comes in. It comes in our houses and dreams and heads and beds in the form of friends and lovers and friends of lovers and dead (blood and art) relatives and teachers and spirits and all their faces. And all the ways we misremember their faces and touches when we want them and they don’t seem to be in our houses. And we miss them. We miss them. We miss ourselves sometimes. But the world reminds us. Resolute. It’s never invited because it is the world. It keeps coming to hold itself (aka the birds, aka us) in its hands (aka itself), cupped and open, or resting, head tucked under wing. The world is right here plump on your carpet, and it keeps coming in.
Written by Jay Tan