IOU (Poetry Preview)

whispers of a white rabbit

I reach in within myself, as if I'm burying an untold secret, left frozen inside some forlorn tattered juice box through the mantle and layers of my own bones and abraded flesh — and how preposterous, that the brutal act of digging deeper ends up as the last attempt to unfetter the walls and set the self free.

The thought of freedom skins my nails, and numbs my fingers that don't stop plowing through the unknown leathery matter of my existence to find the opening. The beginning. The core. How ironic it is – to dig inside yourself in order to loosen the thread that keeps you together. So you can escape the softness of the earth ceaselessly falling over your hands, your thoughts, your very being, and to be able to stand on the other side of yourself. To live as yourself, and drown as yourself. To sit comfortably in the depths, unshackled by the darkness – comforted. Unafraid. To unfold the ugly and the unloved; face its soiled dirty facade, and see it for what it is. To rid yourself of the cold, at the way it coats your lungs and pierces through your vision, and curls around the nape of your neck – wearing the withered promises that no one can keep, never truly finding its match. Never hearing its echo.

So I whisper back to it, just like I once wished to be whispered to.

The first twitch. The first time.

It grins back at me – the reflection, the hidden half – accepts my reply, bursts with light that I can only recognize the juncture as the door finally opening. There's only so much to dig through until your filthy hands unearths and reaches the margin.

I step out of myself and kiss my hand goodbye.

We have reached the end of the quarter.

We welcome the end.

"Whispers of a White Rabbit"

© Rizu Lu
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