{"id":2600,"date":"2014-09-17T15:28:19","date_gmt":"2014-09-17T22:28:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=2600"},"modified":"2015-05-25T14:34:00","modified_gmt":"2015-05-25T21:34:00","slug":"spleen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=2600","title":{"rendered":"Spleen"},"content":{"rendered":"

Must I find my body in a book,
\na misnomered bruise, borne like a gland
\non the wrong side since they made me
\ncross over and out? When I was a girl,
\nthe lithe babble of warm rain fell
\nthrough my skin, herbs from the languorous
\ngreen mountains wafted through my pores.
\nNo one\u00a0made\u00a0<\/em>the flowers speak. The sea
\nwas blue, gulls\u2019 flight script I could read.<\/p>\n

Now through metal blinds I watch the cold
\nprecipitate particles of light
\nfrom the gray \u2013 or is it grey? \u2013 veil
\nlate solstice afternoon unfurls:
\nwords which do not become me.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Nasrin was born on the southern shores of the Caspian. Winters in Alberta were far from her cup of tea. To make matters worse, when I wrote this poem for her, she was suffering from a debilitating virus. \u201cSpleen\u201d to her had always been Baudelairean melancholy, not the gland, the exact location of which required some research, though both meanings certainly applied in that place and at that point in time. She recovered completely and fifteen years later we have found ourselves in lotusland, not where Canadians place it, in Vancouver, but much farther south.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Must I find my body in a book, a misnomered bruise, borne like a gland on the wrong side since they made me cross over and out? When I was a girl, the lithe babble of warm rain fell through my skin, herbs from the languorous green mountains wafted through my pores. No one\u00a0made\u00a0the flowers … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Spleen”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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