Optophobia.

There were many things we did not want our eyes to know, because we did not trust them.

We did not believe in crying mothers, leaving lovers, dead ends, or lifeless straws of corn.

No.

We could not trust our eyes.

So we walked with our eyes closed and our arms spread out like book pages.

So that whatever came rushing at us was a secret only our ears knew and a hymn only our skins could sing to.

But even with eyes closed we see the wars that seep out of bones and call out ‘mother’.

We see bodies walk like short diseases and swallow the fire that screams out of dark holes until all that floats in stomachs are smoke and old stories.

Didn’t your father teach you how to bend the words you could not carry?

Didn’t he teach you how to fold them again and again until they were small enough for you to chew?

So that the jagged edges of your teeth grind the tricky letters into dust and your tongue embraces them with the ease that Tzahal soldiers hold H&K G3s and M14s in rapid showers of dust, blood and curses.

Of numb.

And afraid.

Because every day you lie spread-eagled in your deficiency and remember the days when they held your hands and admired the horizontal lesions that run the full perimeter of your temples from old entablatures that are supposed to protect you from the elements.

And you notice like you always do that their fingers never quite lock into yours.

But you stay put, because you know that these grounds will look for your feet and these suns will itch for your eyes.

That these metaphors will hunt you like empty spaces until they become songs for the people who miss trains and birthdays and church.

And as the night breeze lectures down my neck and teaches my back to know how many mountains remain unclimbed and how many beds remain unslept in.

And how many miracles come in sizes too big.

And how many times I would look into my father’s eyes and see that I did everything wrong.

That while other children taught their fingers to breathe along the rough patches of their mother’s backs, I sat and thought my way through shards of glass that shine like street lights that lead you to more street lights and more..

Until I remembered to walk with my eyes closed and my arms spread out like book pages so that whatever came rushing at me was a secret only my ears knew and a hymn only my skin could sing to.

A little off key but just good enough to keep my eyes closed.

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

I AM SO HAPPY YOU FOUND ME! I AM IN AWE AND MY HEART THROBS IN MY CHEST WITH PURE JOY!
WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG DEAR POET, DEAR, DEAR KINDRED SOUL!
THE DEPTH OF THIS PIECE IS WHERE MY MIND FEELS AT HOME. THE EMOTIONS THAT BREATHE BENEATH EACH WORD SCREAM AT ME AND I CAN NOT AVERT MY EYES, I LEAN IN, SOAKING IN THE GLORY OF A LANGUAGE I KNOW, A LANGUAGE ENGRAVED UPON MY HEART AND EMBODIES MY VERY SOUL....
GREAT!
I MAY SEEM LIKE A LOON FOR SURE BECAUSE, MY APOLOGIES TO ALL MY FRIENDS HERE AT WC, BUT I MUST....MUST, KEEP READING THE BRILLIANCE OF JOSHUA LEAN.
HONORED TO HAVE THE EXPERIENCE DEAR POET.
With all the sincerity I possess.
Had to use caps to show the excitement, one that comes with reuniting with an old and cherished friend!

[Joshua Lean]

You warm my insides,dear friends.
Greatly inspired.
Thank you.

[InsanityWriter]

Amazing poem. :) The imagery and every word were perfect. Excellent job!! :D

100/100

[Written Volumes]

"There were many things we did not want our eyes to know, because we did not trust them."

That first line in this marvelous poem says it all there! Great job Joshua!

[luviva]

ok first of all, i love the title..#]
reall good read and i dont knw what to say..!!
love the metaphors they just fell into place just like piaces completing the puzzle.
you are a good damn writer!!

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you very much!

[Joshua Lean]

I have my first story/prose up!

[luviva]

will try and see it..

[Junert]

Woah. That's......that's amazing. Demanding. Made me question my conscience. And touched me deep down. I'm closing my eyes.

[Joshua Lean]

Ha! Thank you, Juneret.

[gombeggar]

reminds of ginsberg or burroughs...seems if u fill this out and complete it there would be a long good narrative

[Joshua Lean]

Ah, Ginsberg. Thank you!

[Devanshu Rajput]

greatly done...lovely piece...keep writing...

[Joshua Lean]

Thank you!

[Robbie~xoxo~]

Your prose style is perplexing, which is why I'm highly intrigued...this write grabs my mind, forcing me to reach further into the reflecting pond of myself. Every line seems to connect with a vulnerable part of me, yet it is your expression of thought, (it belongs to you), this is the reason why I love poetry...because of kindred spirits like you. Magnificent write indeed!

[Joshua Lean]

I was hoping to create such an effect,I guess I was successful.This makes me glad,indeed.

read moreI was hoping to create such an effect,I guess I was successful.This makes me glad,indeed.

Appreciated.

[.]

sometimes mother can make all the difference.
and sometimes not...
as a mother, i feel for they who's sense of mother (for what ever reasons) is bruised.

an affecting confessional, joshua.
...might expect you're even synesthesic

[Joshua Lean]

Hm.Your comment inspires me.Thank you.

[Larry Dyson]

interesting style of prose...unusual style of wording ...but picturesque..I like it...i'll read more...turn about is fair play ..read one of mine? Laury

[Joshua Lean]

Ah,I like to do me.

Thank you,Laury.