George Abraham

“Essay on Submission"

Having ebbed in the disbelief of it instead of its weight.

Stone-tiled the floor the blood a trickling fire confessional.

Here the ocean metaphor refused.

He tore me shut & seeping no vastness.

To marvel or hide in.

Being told i don’t exist i laugh with wounded teeth into.

The folds of his larynx a choir of bees rattle me.

Into myth less the mechanics of.

Throat than the usage the context neither divorced from combustion.

Of birth more or less i forgave him before.

He entered because he swelled for me i could never trust.

Myself in his hands but i did want.

Him.

Knocking leaning into the sliver of light he.

Missed the wastebasket he couldn’t bear.

The sight of me i never slept.

With the lights off i don’t know that.

History.

But i named it so it can’t be.

Holy.

Or rather question.

Of distance my skin.

And cold waters my skin and woundless.

Skin i wade in the contradiction.

After i wanted only to be.

Held.

No.

Distance his hand & the small of my.

Back his hand & the lip.

Of a waterfall here i reject the landscape.

Its vastness i don’t think.

We’re looking for the same thing you.

And i you’d think olympus.

Would dethrone itself of goldenrod leaves i told you it was.

Blood did i claim it.

Mine i am built of avoidable.

Violences with one drop apocalypse.

The burning wilderness you can see yourself.

Out now histories like this cannot.

Be known let alone escaped even the one.

Where i set fire to my colonizer i can afford neither.

Reclamation nor reconciliation.

No.

Unfragmented i cannot give you an ending.

That isn’t body lunar.

And concave staining instead.

The bathroom floor.”
― George Abraham