Runaway by Jorie Graham

Author:Jorie Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

SAM’S STANDING

on earth—almost—testing the weight she brings, her self, to the

hold earth offers-up—she looks—she holds an edge to see

if space too has grips in it somehow—how is she supposed to

let go and just launch, lurch—fly out—& who

will be there where there is no one visible at all in case

there is suddenly nothing at all. One foot is set in place,

feels hard for place, then the whole of her eleven

months leans on it, lets go—is this trust now, first trust—uneven then

even—then the one step. All stops. She looks firmly at the emptiness.

It seems so full. What is it to go. Its gorgeousness

has not yet shown itself, this void into which all shall pour

of her self, where she must cut off here from there—

it is not easy this finding a there, an elsewhere—is there arrival anywhere—is

there going around or into—is there thru—what is thru—urgent not to miss

the mark which won’t stay marked, this going with no where in it. Invisibility

is this you. This sudden wanting to be more—to be alone—this fluidity

wanting to rip open where she wasn’t before, and pass thru, as if she is

what the thru was, has taken on throughness and is.

In this balancing is. Arms out to the side is. Is just. Feels from earth

this sweet upswirling—coming to hold her—up. Up. All is equal everywhere. Birth

continuing until this now, this forth, where the perfect calculations of air

hold. And no station is above another. And millions of swerves hum incipient. But for

now stasis—air rushing to hold—her heart aloft—and everywhere the huge bloom

opens—look, it shows its face—justice—nothing is missing yet—no too soon

too late—found-footing then again found. Ground. Oh ground. Given by

going. Then the stream begins to form. The where-she’s-been. High

up above the earth—even for so small a thing, so high, above, she turns. Sees where

she’s been, where she no longer is, will never be again. I see it widen there,

right on her tiny face—the agitation, the vault, the chasm of

minutes opening and brandishing, the dance that begins now, the dance of

terror, I’m seeing it here, I’m watching the minutes open in a soul,

would you like to dance, the generosity of everything murmurs, I see her whole

self hear it, though it is just the air conditioner in here with us, & no it’s not

like a photograph of anything this rent—it’s not just air she sees—it’s not

recoverable—from bed to bed she’ll know this—from love to love—the kingdom

of undertow has opened here—you are expected it says furnishing from

out of nowhere now the corridor—would you like to dance—outside the winter’s

smoothing flat more day, one less, one more of less, though as she enters

now she does not know—I know—I chaos of knowing know—the band

of sunlight moving as she moves into it now, dust motes in it, her hand

thrown out to grab them all. All. It’s merely place. It’s merely time.

She goes. She has not fallen down so now she is for sure in the human

thoughtlessness, on the conveyor, welcome girl, it’s 7:43,

we will never arrive, we will never arrive at mercy,

it is incurable, there is nothing

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