At the Edge of Vision

How does one walk

with her body appropriated

for use in pieces?

 

My skin makes me a caricature

passing through your streets,

a stereotype of humanity;

my sex, my hair-

make me a conquest,

a curiosity. I have

the anonymity of the homeless-

 

The person most watched,

but never seen. The invisible one

of greatest visibility.

 

Presence without belonging,

I remain at the edges

of knowing, without

finding a center of power.

 

A mind whose ideas

are not formed or presented

in the mandated format.

A mouth without a voice. An artist

of Life, without an exhibition.

 

I stand at the border,

at the convergence of all things,

under the protection of the night,

where you cannot see

my otherness. And I stay here-

 

shedding my hopes

like so much clothing of a size

too small,

arranging fragments into

something that resembles a woman.

 

Once again. Looking for the door

that will make me feel-

less invisible.

 

 

Author's Note

This is a poem about sitting with depression. It is about the invisibility one feels as a stranger in a strange land, constantly profiled, misunderstood, harassed, and unheard.
picture is my own, our city blanketed with clouds during morning inversion


this piece is a translation. Its original in Spanish can be found here:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1823926/

Reviews

[Jibey]

This is an interesting and moving poem, expressing in a heartfelt manner the uncertainty and frustration of a person looking to find some kind of self-affirming recognition. I guess we all feel a bit lost from time to time and wish we were striding forth into the sunset with a crown of admirers applauding our progress. But it ain't like that! Sensitive poets are even more prone to self-doubt!

Cleverly composed and imaginatively conceived, with all those striking images looking at the same issue from different angles.

[Ken Simm.]

Yes this is a piece about depression and don't I know about that. But..... but it is about the artist, (of life if you like. I would prefer experience but its your poem). It is not about being lost some of the time it is about the need to positively create to perhaps chase away the black dog. An artist is the one whose ideas are not presented in the mandated format (and what a stellar understanding line that is). An artist is the one who understands the mandated format but chooses the best way to process the information that she is given.
There are perhaps four living poets that I admire the hell out of. You are one of them. I'm not saying that to gush (although to my shame it is gushing). I am saying that because I find myself not merely empathising but attempting to understand from my perspective perhaps; every aspect I can recognise from this multi faceted write and mind. Stellar is not a sufficient word.

[emmajoy]

' A mouth without a voice. An artist -- -- of Life, without an exhibition. ....... I stand at the border, -- --
at the convergence of all things,.. .. '

Such a sadness of public expression. Beautifully laid words but as if trying to claw self out of a deep hole, an abyss, a depression, a loss of what and who. Finding Self at times is a drawing of teeth, each removal hurts that little more until... and here you've exposed more than a facade...

Not sure if i've read this right - we each interprete according to pysche, heart or what-have-you - but i so want to drag you into the Light.