InCubationA Poem by Robert TrakoflerI don't know what this isInCubation Savor sensation scent sight and sound; The fades of perception as my life unwound. My fragments of conscious drifted unbound; Like plucked notes from a symphony, till the melody’s unfound. And the fractious fray of figment unravels from my claim; Like staccato snatches of pigment, from the Picasso of my frame. diminishing to flittering filaments drifting in the breeze of my conscious as cobwebs, became the pages of my memory till
there was nothing.
And I, in the absence of; Savor, sensation, scent, sight and sound… something remained… Was it my displacement, of the countless droplets in the perpetual motion of the water cycle? Or the parsing, of the many passages, placed upon the stanzas… of my conveyance? This I will never fully understand, not alive anyway; but I can say There is peacefulness in
obliteration. And as the I, became a they… like a child learning to ride a
bicycle, the reflexive sensation, of movement in an unknown motion, was at once; Strangely familiar, and completely foreign. The fragmented I, we… they, still
existed.
Stock-still
I sat upon a wingback seat, overlooking
luxurious bookshelves; charged
with many a grand treatise, I
gazed a stately looking woman delving
into the numerous volumes For
hours, days, minutes or a turn? I
could not tell… For
at times, she would dash about the shelves an
almost imperceptible blur. And
at others she would slowly dwell, Was
it I, that was a ghost, haunting
her? Or
was it she to I, this host, watching
me? But
if I turned my head, I
would no longer be in this place And
her presence was comfort. I
did not know her name, Nor
did I, my own. and
when she spoke, there
were no words only
thoughts
The
cart pushers, Were
assembling in the hallway They
were tenuating There
slatbooms And
percorating There
grispolators In
preparation for… another
grand parade! They
would move about in a circular motion Their
machines would bob and turn To
lift and probe The
many other souls hidden
behind the curtains strewn
about the big round room Soon
a cart pusher will jot by to
tend my grubhubbler and
spin some knobs occasionally,
one
would mutter something in cart pusher that
I couldn’t understand I
wanted to reply but
I had no voice. soon
the cavalcade would end as
they weaved and danced about putting
away their instruments and
they would disappear behind that door. that’s
when the hunger always begins…If I could just get to that door.
“l
have been accustomed to these” she said as she adjusted her spectacles. “They
are, of course, not necessary.” She
spoke while returning a book to the shelf “It
takes some time getting used to, navigating this place You
will find, it is the little things… that hold you together.” I
mustered the courage to pull myself from the chair “There
you are dear, do explore.” I
managed a few steps and abruptly slid through the floor, and
dropped into the basement. My
footing became a bit steadier and I was able to survey its contents I
conversed with the various baubles and bric-a-brac Their
notions would appear upon my view like old memories but they weren’t mine. I
came upon a curious looking object a
square brown pad that resembled a cardboard egg holder like the ones that would
be hung on walls to act as sound absorbers. Picking it up I asked her what it
was and she replied “I’m
afraid, dear, that is one of yours.” Instantly,
I became transfixed and the hunger that insatiable hunger pulled me away.
The
bitter taste of plastic pervaded my mouth and the scorched scent of adrenaline suffused
with a slightly sweet scent of vanilla charged the air as a sudden jolt of
gravity spun the room about me. I dizzily spotted two cart pushers sitting at
the counter in the hallway before me. The grumble of my hubbler and the hiss of
the grispolator resonated as I tried to sit up to no avail. The heaviness of
this place was so pervasive, how could of I forgotten? I wanted to call out to
them for help, but my mouth was blocked. Reaching to pull out the plastic
invader I realized my hands were bound. That’s when the teeth clenching pain
hit me it quickly overwhelmed all of my senses… paralyzing unimaginable pain. The
last thing I remember seeing was that impossible door!
______________________________________________
Sitting
back in the library once again paralyzed in fear I reached out to her, “I do
not know who I am, yet I know that I am, but I don’t know what I, is! I am
scared and afraid and I am filled with such a ravenous hunger and yet I don’t
know for what it is.” My
dear, there are bits of you all over these volumes you could spend an eternity
searching the lines and connections strewn across these pages. You are
everywhere scattered throughout. That crave is universal it is the one sense,
the one thread that connects both of these places. it is the last delicious
bite of a peach that you accidentally dropped. It is the revel… the feeling of
the next great poem you haven’t written, the perfect brush stroke of a glorious
sunset glanced on your finest day. It is the wallow on a crisp pile of rustling
leaves when you were a boy smiling at the kaleidoscopic canopy dancing
overhead. That hunger, that crave, is
what drives us… many try to fill it, often with the wrong things some with
power, others wealth, some even food! but it requires only one thing… love,
that is its fuel the more you give, the greater the resplendency. The more you
try to fill it with the wrong things the greater the despondency.” No longer
afraid I responded “I have something to do I…” she replied before I could
finish “I know dear” ______________________________________________
I
could taste the sweet air across my dry lips And
I felt the light brushing of fingertips tickle my forearm The
sudden rush of ozone mixed with the scent of my hospital gown filled my nose as
I watched myriad fragments slowly collect about me to view the loving glance of
familiar eyes looking down upon me. I heard the still imperceptible cacophony
of voices and machinery inundate my ears but I felt a comfort in there sounds
even as my mind could still not process much of what I was experiencing. It was
at once completely foreign and strangely familiar.
______________________________________________
ReBirth~
I am
here now… as I was then That
ubiquitous crave Hanging on the wall next to my hospital
bed was that brown square pad resembling an egg holder. I asked a nurse what it
was and she told me it was a fall alarm. I later learned that the second time I
died, I had pulled myself from the bed in my recovery room. It took me several more weeks to be able to
navigate successfully enough to return home. During this time many fragments
collected and reassembled in my mind; everything from taste, touch, sound,
smell, and sight; how to collate them in order to walk and express my thoughts.
After I returned home a day or two later I
managed to walk a block around the corner to my stepdaughter’s house it was
Christmas Eve and I got to hold my newest granddaughter there are no words for
me to describe the tearful joy of that moment. © 2023 Robert TrakoflerFeatured Review
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Added on January 24, 2023Last Updated on January 24, 2023 Tags: Robert Trakofler, poetry, spoken word, InCubation AuthorRobert Trakoflerpittsburgh, PAAboutI am the Bunny but the bunny isn't me long live the bunny Hello I’m Robert I own an art gallery and performance space in Pittsburgh called The Zenith It is also an antique store and a veget.. more..Writing
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