© 2020 by LAURA TUTHALL. All rights reserved.

Darkroom (2016)

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same t-shirt for days

I’m looking out my little window

with my tired little eyes

thinking of getting out

getting outside

getting my hands

on everyone else’s time

getting to move

 

it’s like being locked in a darkroom

with nothing to develop

but your own dark thoughts

and some old pictures in boxes

that’s me I see running free

on the golden hills

but I don’t remember

going there at all

 

I woke up from a dream

with the color of a melody

I laid it out on the keys

poured over and over

I worked with dull hope

for weeks and then months

but the paint dried up

 

the negative me

that’s all I’m exposing

a miniature, inverted version’s

all that they see

but that’s not enough for me

I know what I could be

and it’s so much –

 

more

a funny word for

a bridge without its mainland

out from the island edge

to a foggy end

lamenting at four in the morning

a wish only death can free

they say it’s like falling asleep

but I’d have to stop dreaming

trade in velvet synapses

for blank abandoned staves

 

same day on repeat

I’m looking out

I’m looking in

I am remembering

that paracosm girl

she’s dead

I miss her head

the liquid thoughts

the clouds beneath my feet

being happy to be

locked in my darkroom

with nothing to develop

but the landscapes inside me

 

I went back to the dirt

to the dry and worn out riverbeds

I poured all my water down

cried over and over

I wet the dormant red

it deepened and bled

and I almost touched

a delta but

 

the negative me

that’s all I’m exposing

a miniature inverted version’s

all I can see

but that’s not enough for me

I know what I could be

and it’s so much –

 

more

a funny word for

a structure not yet heard by

years

out from the neuron edge

to a network of unknown gears

composing at four in the morning

a gift only life can leave

and trusting that time will expand

what now is still stuck in

REM sleep

and incomplete conduits

like swallows bent south

like seedlings bent skyward

that’s how I’ll be making myself:

day by day by day