Skip to main content

What Do I need to let go of?

My body went into shock. Then morning. Lots of morning. When do I stop morning? If I stop morning do I stop remembering Aaron?

I have never cried this much. Or in this way.

If I eat why am I eating? I have sat in this room since I got the news of the death of Aaron. I went outside to get a roll yesterday for 5 min.

The world outside looked strange.

But I know the world outside is no different than here.

How do I feel that? How do I get beyond this delusion of separateness?

Or to feel that other part of reality that shows me we are not separate?

Some connection comes from knowing we all suffer the death of people we love.

We will all experience this (or have experienced this).

This comfort comes and goes. This realisation comes and goes.

What is the mindfulness of feeling things through the body?

My body feels run down. Muscles tight.

What do I need to let go of?


Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery

A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).

Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…