There’s no going too far into solitude

Poem

Photograph by Ema Dumitru

My hands have not known the hurt of trying to open some door
they have not known clawing
seeking help
because help did not exist
I invented it
I became it

An outside
and an inside
a mask of a face at the center

Fear avoided my name &
my pronoun
I — I — I
all of a sudden scattering

The warm touch of summer rain
going down beneath the ground
into a dark gallery

I know nothing of
what fors and who fors
I can and want

My hands have not known reaching
and have not returned to me
empty

The stretch instructs us about life
and saving someone is sometimes equivalent to lying
only that lying does not exist either

Was this it, then?

there’s no going too far into solitude
you did well to not die
you are the interior

I wait for no one but myself.