{"id":12666,"date":"2019-06-15T13:37:31","date_gmt":"2019-06-15T11:37:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=12666"},"modified":"2019-06-15T08:39:38","modified_gmt":"2019-06-15T06:39:38","slug":"poems-by-holly-day-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=12666","title":{"rendered":"poems by Holly Day"},"content":{"rendered":"

Fragments<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I\u2019m a fool and there\u2019s no<\/p>\n

getting back all the things I have lost. No use crying<\/p>\n

for the little pieces, all the bits that<\/p>\n

made up what I once was, a<\/p>\n

lie destined to disintegrate<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

under scrutiny. Somewhere<\/p>\n

out there is a man<\/p>\n

rewriting my history<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and this time, he\u2019s promised<\/p>\n

to make me interesting. Not even<\/p>\n

oncoming traffic stops for me now, I<\/p>\n

have grown so invisible<\/p>\n

nondescript, destined<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to be forgotten. My<\/p>\n

new identity will belong to<\/p>\n

someone more dynamic<\/p>\n

headline-grabbing, genius, but for now I must sit<\/p>\n

patient with the person I<\/p>\n

am now. Even a<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

fool can learn to love<\/p>\n

peace of mind<\/p>\n

the quiet peace of real things<\/p>\n

the pace of reality. Oh,<\/p>\n

I am.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Very Last Drop<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

on the last day, when the world finally ends, I hope<\/p>\n

I\u2019m sitting in my car, driving somewhere nice, thoughts of the day ahead<\/p>\n

filling my head with anticipatory joy. I hope my favorite song<\/p>\n

is playing on the radio, and I hope that I have just enough time to sing along<\/p>\n

all the way to the end of the song.<\/p>\n

if the world was to truly end on a perfect note, then I<\/p>\n

would have a cup of coffee by my side<\/p>\n

hot but not too hot, and just enough to last until the very<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

last second. I don\u2019t really care how it all ends,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

so long as I don\u2019t know it\u2019s coming, so long as<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t have to think about it, have to prepare for it, have to dread it<\/p>\n

in any way. I don\u2019t want to live through<\/p>\n

global starvation, a prolonged, senseless war, weeks of<\/p>\n

television shows featuring children dying somewhere else.<\/p>\n

I want the end<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to be something nobody saw coming but the sandwich-board<\/p>\n

prophets, standing crazy on street corners, waving their dirty fists<\/p>\n

up at the sky as if<\/p>\n

some god up there<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

was glaring down at the earth, making maniacal plans<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to destroy everybody and everything we\u2019ve taken so comfortably for granted.<\/p>\n

I<\/p>\n

want to end up like those mammoths dug out of rock ice in Russia<\/p>\n

found completely intact, flash frozen, with food still in their mouths<\/p>\n

caught by disaster in mid-chew, mid-thought<\/p>\n

completely surprised.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

For New Constellations<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If you were to set me free, I would leave with only<\/p>\n

a rolled-up animal skin tent strapped to my back<\/p>\n

a pocketful of\u00a0 dried berries and reindeer meat<\/p>\n

a chunk of ice in a bucket to later melt into water.<\/p>\n

I would give you one backwards last glance,<\/p>\n

one last chance to stop me<\/p>\n

before disappearing into a landscape of glaciers and polar bears<\/p>\n

a sky filled with so many stars.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It would only take moments for my retreating figure<\/p>\n

to be swallowed up in an expanse of white snow, only moments<\/p>\n

for the wind to erase my footprints, the twin snaky signatures left by my sled.<\/p>\n

Eventually, you\u2019ll discover that all of your letters<\/p>\n

have been forwarded to a research station abandoned by Russians<\/p>\n

years before, everything you forgot to say in person<\/p>\n

has been shredded into bedding by arctic foxes and penguins<\/p>\n

chewed into mulch by inquisitive polar bears.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In Search of Truth<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

In the 14th century, world-renowned traveler Sir John Mandeville<\/p>\n

came back to England with stories of a “vegetable sheep,”<\/p>\n

thinking that the cotton plants he’d seen growing in India<\/p>\n

were actually embryonic sheep, born out of the hard little wooden nubs.<\/p>\n

First, sheep start out as fluff, he theorized, then the hoofs and the legs emerged<\/p>\n

pulling the body and head out afterwards. He didn\u2019t stay in India long enough<\/p>\n

to see the cotton grow into a sheep, but he did bring home several pods<\/p>\n

for scientists to dissect and study, in hopes of growing more<\/p>\n

vegetable sheep in English soil.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It wasn’t until 1557<\/p>\n

that Italian scientist Girolamo Cardano<\/p>\n

wrote an extensive and exhaustive thesis on how soil<\/p>\n

could not possibly provide the requisite heat for the fetal development of animals<\/p>\n

he was very sure of this. There were rumors<\/p>\n

of questionable experiments, a slew of missing dogs and cats<\/p>\n

a few sheep from the surrounding countryside<\/p>\n

tiny graves and headstones in his backyard<\/p>\n

hidden just behind a plot of sweet peas and marigolds.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Too Late<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If we were alive a thousand years ago<\/p>\n

the only way we would have ever gotten together<\/p>\n

would be briefly: you, emerging from your spartan<\/p>\n

clay-floored monk\u2019s cell, horsehair-stippled habit<\/p>\n

hiding your rough, angry frame as you stomped<\/p>\n

off into the woods, into the night<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

to my tiny hut packed with bottles of bright-colored rocks<\/p>\n

roof fallen inward from the weight of birds\u2019 nests and ivy<\/p>\n

packed to the ceiling with things found on my walks<\/p>\n

eyes of tiny creatures watching from every corner.<\/p>\n

I would greet you at the door, hair wild and unkempt<\/p>\n

leaves and twigs stuck in the knots at the base of my neck<\/p>\n

greet you and your rules and order without question or thought.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There would be a moment in all of this where we made total sense<\/p>\n

where our differences didn\u2019t matter, as if we evened each other out<\/p>\n

where our grunting and screaming was some type of language<\/p>\n

that erased the whole world around us. Eventually, though,<\/p>\n

just like now<\/p>\n

the sun always comes up<\/p>\n

and we remember who we are.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fragments   I\u2019m a fool and there\u2019s no getting back all the things I have lost. No use crying for the little pieces, all the bits that made up what I once was, a lie destined to disintegrate<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1381,77],"tags":[1383,1123,1038],"class_list":["post-12666","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-58","category-english","tag-egophobia-58","tag-english","tag-holly-day"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-3ii","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12666","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=12666"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12666\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12667,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12666\/revisions\/12667"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=12666"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=12666"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=12666"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}