excerpts from The Saturation Project

Deep Bells

Humming made me transparent — a voice sent out searching for recognition. At the end of the summer, when school started, I discovered the band Kleenex (later called LiLiPUT due to a lawsuit from Kimberly-Clark), whose female noises I instantly recognized — blurtish, gleeful, launched, squealed, kicked up, and floating. Kleenex reached my ears as if their sound might have come from inside my own extravagant impulses. Listening to them I entered myself. I found the fight to grieve my receding childhood; I remembered that infants laugh and weep before they speak.

How metaphor becomes bodily has never been made clearer to me. This is how I grew, extended by sound. Isn’t it always true that some parts of us stay behind? Then, everyone gathered around me in the orthodontist’s office. My mouth was open wide, no sound escaped. We were looking at an X-ray. The doctor had discovered that my jaw had been growing long after the rest of me stopped, jutting out as one surgeon said “unlike a human jaw.” All the better to spit and spout with, my dear.

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[3]

Red is my replacement, it is the color I fall into when I run out of words or reasons to talk. When I gag on my own sentence.

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REFERENCES

  1. Pritchard, Normal H. “ ” ”. The Matrix Poems: 1960-70. New Jersey: Doubleday & Co., 1970. 187.

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