by Lisa Delan
i. (before) Your sorrow not knowing itself, just outside of my reach - I want to inhale it from your bent form, to siphon the sting and to know - My child born in light I would sing you to morning if it would spark and reveal you - The angels of night tender in your pain caress your back under the pile of blankets - While down the hall my heart remembers your shining eyes waiting to be born again. ii. (hospital) I watched you laughing you did not see me nor the small hairline in my hope that mended in that moment. When you wore the silly headband and played four square with checkers and vamped with the blow up ball... My heart was sinewed, so cautiously mending I did not stir the air, did not risk movement; I cannot stay this still. So when you come back I will not hold my breath, I will exhale into these moments, and let my lungs expand with all we have and cannot hold. iii. (again) You are untethered again and my life becomes smaller wants recede and there is only now, this moment when you laugh, this moment when you disappear, this moment in which I can comfort you; this moment where I cannot reach you. I open my hands, see they are empty, and so it is I understand I have no power here, and no illusions to soften my impotence. I want to gather a plush lie around me, but my damp body chills as droplets of water gather on the unprotected tiles.
About the author:
Lisa Delan is classical soprano who passionately performs song settings of a wide range of poems by visionary writers. She has recorded extensively for the Pentatone label and can be heard on Apple Music, Spotify, YouTube, and other streaming platforms.
Lisa’s own poetic voice explores interior landscapes as seen through the shifting prism of time, and through the connection of self to other. Her work was recently published in Beyond Words Literary Magazine, the Mill Valley Literary Review, and Wingless Dreamer, and will be featured in upcoming issues of Viewless Wings and Cathexis Northwest Press.
@lisadelan on Instagram and Facebook