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Latent Morning

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by Samantha Paucar

Folded hands at my window

in the black hole of my room at night

eating any light.

 

Be something, be something, I say to myself and into these hands

I am always trying to be something

Flailing through every space and snatching up people

Their time is stolen into these hands, my own, red as any shame

Any sin that I’ve entertained

Now with my moving lips upon them

White, clean, though barren as tundra.

 

The harm is all my own doing, my own means to any end.

 

I can see now, just how

I have been an insatiable child

A silly, dirtied, lost child

Who is so hungry for nothing

whining for something.

 

I see now, inert but all the more expectant

Suddenly seeing through the window

Into the expansive, the vast and beautiful

Anonymity has lost its humble charm to me.

 

I can never be nothing

So I persist in the same old pursuit

I cannot sleep because I am not done

So I pour myself out again, the last mist of spirit

Into a new conduit

No part of that boy is any means to my end

I know that already but the aftermath will come as confirmation

I am a child I know not what I say

The aftermath confirms but does not surprise

 

Cruel satisfaction

I am always right

How precocious of me

All these 20 years

finally something right

 

Even so, I keep his memory close to remember his eyes upon me

 

He will cover me in his eyes and his words, once

once more

So that I am aglow

with what is his love

for this hour or less.

It’s not much but it certainly distracts,

from the quiet of the coming nights

I can remember his eyes upon me then.

In this hour or less

I am made perfect in what only now is his love.

 

Let me sleep in that

 

In every conduit who tells me I am pretty for a season

telling me what I am, most importantly, just what I could be to them

when all I could ever be is mist

at this hour at least.

What am I?

O’ God what am I?

Eve named every beast but I want You to tell me exactly what You ask of me

O’ God what am I?

 

Nothing, nothing yet

I can sleep tonight perhaps

Nothing, there’s nothing to earn

 

Unfolded hands lay still.

Precariously close to this black hole

eating any light.

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