sappho #31 (poem of jealousy / φαίνεταί μοι)
That man is like a god
just sitting near you listening
close to your voice—delirium—
your laughter dripping mercury
between my ribs and into
my kinetic heart. You turn
to me and I am god and
godless, full of words and
voiceless as my tongue dies and
lithe flame ignites beneath
my skin, consuming light and
sound from senseless
senses sweat erupts and
shivers grip my shoulders I
am paler than the palest grass
with swelling tiny deaths.
waterfall
from the moment of your inception
you unmake yourself
into what you were made to be
behind the glimmering veil
you wreak lovely havoc
against your own foundation
carving out your own stomach
in the dry season
you’re a jut harsh and bare
most exposed in safety
peace does not become you
you are the sculptor and the sculpture
the marble, the chisel
and the dust that falls away
Mythos
Independence is the most sacred myth of our people. We worship the idea that we can transcend the needs of our bodies and souls, transcend each other, depend upon no one and nothing. To be Independent is to be unmoved, unfazed, uncontrolled. Independence is a form of power that relies upon disentanglement and disengagement.
We are a proud people. We are a harsh people. Many of us sacrifice our gentleness in pursuit of this elusive Independence. Empathy dies on the altar of Independence: the price for compromising our supposed escape from suffering.
I come to you today in the hopes that this myth has not polluted your culture as well. Learn from us, and do not follow our example. Do not believe yourselves so grand that you would stand to benefit from our destruction -- for the only true Independence is death. Let us instead revere harmony, solidarity, and the absolute vibrancy of life; our intertwined fates depend upon it.
#ProseChallenge #SciFi #exceptionalism #americanmythos #empathy