Photo by totomai.
These are things that you should know. This is how you’ll find me. Walk 20 meters from the Subway station, towards the butterfly-logoed building. Traipse through the foot bridge across the river. In five minutes, you’ll see my building, the second one, with a hosts of convenience stores, a Nolbu restaurant and a fried chicken outlet on the first floor. I will be there, if you come up to the eight floor. The second to the last door on the right wing. I will be there beyond the door, the green shaggy mat to receive the lint and dust you’ve carried. There’s the yellow indoor rug, the little green cactus, and an electric blue aerobic ball, brave colors to welcome you to my rather bare apartment. I would be there, beyond the small kitchen which you can cross in fifteen steps, beyond my hot pink, faux leather ottoman, I will be there on the bed baring what I can— this is what I’m made of, what has formed out of all that’s gone. Take what is needed, what you require. Be my guide. Like now, as I talk to you, I am slumped back, the purple comforter swirled across my torso, and this white screen, my hands talking. Will you ever come?
< Written as a response to an interview with the Poet Louise Glucke about her experience in creating her poetry and the difficulty of summoning the poet/muse that comes and goes inside us.>
