149 lines
4.7 KiB
HTML
149 lines
4.7 KiB
HTML
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<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<title>Zk | I wish I could see your triumph</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
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<meta charset="utf-8" />
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</head>
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<body>
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<main>
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<header>
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<h1>Zk | I wish I could see your triumph</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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<div class="verse"> <em>I wish I could see your triumph.</em>
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That’s the thing about enemies, you see.
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There is a certain amount of love that
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has to go into that struggle.
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There is a certain amount of need and desire,
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because if there is no one there to vanquish,
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then what are we who strive even to do?
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I wish I could see your triumph.
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I wish I could look up at you,
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broken and shattered,
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bleeding in the dust of unknown plains, and know —
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truly, utterly know —
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that I have been defeated,
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that I have been crushed and destroyed.
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I wish I could see your triumph.
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Is that self-sacrificing of me?
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I really don’t know.
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It’s not my place to know these things.
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I wish I could see your triumph.
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It’s my goal to succeed, to prevail,
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to come out the other side,
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to make it through,
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to win.
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It’s my goal to come away with my own triumph,
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but always, always there is that niggling little doubt,
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that secret desire to lose,
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to be beaten in a fair fight
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and have it proven to my face
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that someone could bring me low and understand that
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<em>hey, at least she tried, right?</em>
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I wish I could see your triumph.
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I wish I could see elation in your eyes.
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I wish I could see you laugh.
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I wish I could see just how it looks
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for you to set aside that way you devote every erg of energy
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to struggle
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and give me one of those full on, deep-down belly laughs
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that I know we all hide somewhere in our bodies.
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I wish I could see your triumph,
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and I wish that, should you see mine,
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you understand just how much love goes into our struggle,
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just how much need and desire I hold for you.
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<em>Do you laugh, sea foam? Do you smile, ice, and observe your triumph with an angel’s remove?</em>
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Every now and then I catch a taste of Rilke,
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hidden around some corner of my mouth.
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Every now and then, I think,
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<em>every angel is terrifying</em>,
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and then I’ll go about my day,
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repeating that like a mantra:
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<em>every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel is terrifying every angel…</em>
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He saw someone do that,
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I think I remember the story went.
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He was walking and saw someone face the sea,
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throw their arms wide,
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cry out to sea foam or ice or some unseen rank of angels,
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and…well, I don’t remember if he heard them, necessarily,
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but that’s how it went, right?
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Who, though I cry, would hear me among the ranks of angels,
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and then hundreds of lines later, ten elegies.
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So whenever I get that awkward-shaped piece of grit between my teeth —
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<em>every angel is terrifying</em> —
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I think of that scene.
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I think of the way we elevate the unknown
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to some higher place that ourselves.
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I think of the patterns we hunt for in the sea foam,
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in the waves that can take us under
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or bash us senseless against some barnacled rock.
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I think about the crush of worlds implied in the calving of an iceberg
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and how easily that could destroy.
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I think about that rank of angels who,
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holding me to their breast,
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could so easily annihilate.
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Do they laugh,
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the sea foam,
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the ice,
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the angels?
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<em>I write in fire across the sky, a plummet to match your rise.</em>
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So then, my angel,
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I wish I could see your triumph.
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I dream of it, that moment.
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I dream of falling to my knees,
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or being so badly broken that all I can do is lay there,
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unmoored,
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and look up to the way you rise above me.
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I strive against angels as I strove against men,
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against the world,
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against the cruel vagaries of my former self
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and all his countless failings.
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Some have left me reeling,
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some have left me on my knees,
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head bowed until it almost —
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almost! —
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touches the ground,
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and I’ve had to spend a day,
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a week,
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a year
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catching my breath.
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But never have I striven against you.
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Never have I striven against you, my angel,
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and there is sweetness in defeat.
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There is sweetness in defeat.
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I wish I could see your triumph.</div>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2022-02-23</p>
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