Zev Torres : Five Poems

Who We Are

It is not that there are no secrets between us

But rather that our secrets are

Vital parts of our constitutions.

We are who we are

Despite our secrets

Or perhaps because of our secrets

How we guard our secrets

Curl around our secrets

Shape our lives so our secrets

Are not exposed

So we are not exposed

So we remain immune from having to

Account for a moment of disreputable judgment

For an episode when we followed the crowd

Were guided by impulse

Lost connection with our sense of self

Were responsible for

Shameful emanations.

 

It is as if one of us is blind

And is called upon

To testify as to

The luminosity of a rainbow.

 

 

 

Someday Surprise

This may take you by surprise

Derail your train of thought

Savage your concentration

Blur your focus

Knock you off course:

Someday has arrived.

 

Do not worry.

 

In a moment you will regain

Your balance and composure

Find your wits have been restored

And

 

(although unsettled by the impression

that everything appears

more or less like it did yesterday

and the few details that feel different —

a subtle shift in hue or rotation

a barely perceptible adjustment

to the span between seconds —

have not changed beyond the

expected or ordinary or explicable

or have changed just enough

to not matter

at all)

 

You will

Continue

On your way

Not even slightly aware

That nothing ever will be the same

 

 

Knot

We’ll never unravel this knot.

That is a relief

Helpful to realize.

Although it is best

Not to embrace postulates

To remain skeptical of certainties

For it is the effort to do so

Goaded by the possibility of success

That occupies us

While allowing us to assert

With unblemished conviction

That our life’s purpose

Has not yet been fulfilled.

 

 

 

Without Pretense

Raised by currents of heat.

 

What we strive to accomplish

Between breaths

Matters.

 

Is there such a thing

As a person with no imagination?

Is it possible

To pass through a lifetime

Without having a single dream.

 

Deep. Deep. 

That is what you once said

Referring to my vision

That we descend into

The valley of wretched shadows

And barter our dreams

To anyone who agreed

To assume our doubts.

 

Your words made my day

Emboldened me to abandon pretense

Step out from behind the cloak of

Imperatives and injunctions

Give voice to my insidious incessant curiosity

And lead our reckless charge

Out of this stifling outcrop

Of rigid vanity.

 

 

 

Farewell Note

Voices — tones and timbres.

Familiar.

At hand.

Some are pleasant and pitched.

Like musical notes.

Others are scratchy unpleasant by themselves

Best used as punctuation

Or to add texture or theatre.

Then there are those

That are shy and withdrawn

Drawing out our kindness and patience

A fondness we wish we could recall having received.

And lastly there is a jolting imperative

Akin to an imperious hard-hearted drum beat

That agitates our sleep

Before shutting us down and flinging us

Back to a songless moment

Out of tune and unstrung.