Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Expat Independence Day

So he has become a code jockey
riding algorithms on the high tech plantation
so our basic human needs
get met. At the door, a weary

woman with words like Bearded Angler
glowing in her caliginous depths, a boy
luminescent as jellyfish welcome him
with hugs, song and much spastic jumping.

We are all tired and foreign.
And these walls - blasted
white upon white upon white -
let us know we are not home

no matter
what kind of check
we write every month.
Our hairs mingle on the pillow cases;

we kick each other
in our sleep;
and never say sorry.
Sunrise brings kisses, smiles

and hope. Still,
the mellow days
wear me out more.
How tired is nothing?


* * *

I am learning

to define nothing.

Have given up

an identity constructed

of comic book iconography

and slamming wet clay

Goddesses into each other

until they become monsters.

I am damp, dirty and exhausted

trying to climb inside

fiction.


* * *


He works all day.

I work all day
at doing nothing.

And this child

of struggle and sacrifice
still thinks he is free.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Because he is.

Christina Springer said...

Yes - you are right. Being free is definitely a head space thing. And all of us in that little blog are in fact free.

Still, there are varying levels of freedom. Like the ability to choose to work or not work, be on one's own timetable, reside where one wants, eat what one chooses, write what one chooses to right. Because there are those who are not free - in the strictest definition of the word.

And yet others who have imprisoned their own souls and hearts.