genya turovskaya

 

New Years Day

It isn’t how it looks but how it feels

I just sit there opening my mind to my mind

And all the soldiers of the garden, the frogs and snakes

And all the foot soldiers in the garden composing letters under the stars

The most idle days are the ones in which I most occupy myself

I occupy myself with all that exists

I don’t remember the pleasant sensation of a hand on my breast

The soldiers in the garden strum their guitars

I can’t contain myself any longer

I wanted very badly to feel very badly to feel

I don’t remember the pleasant sensation at all

I reached for words and spinster’s spectacles  appeared on the shelf of the airport bookstore

I imagine a black hole at the far end of the airport corridor

People running breathless toward the departure gate on New Year’s Eve

There must be a way to say it; the long goodbye can’t speak of itself

 We stood together in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge but that was all

The Nor’easter blew the black ice in from the Lakes

It was the start of a long winter

I am certain there is consequence in the afterlife

It happened in Buffalo without anything happening at all

At that moment I entered him with my mind

Some boundary for a brief flash disappeared

To the untrained eye it’s as if nothing had, in actuality, occurred

The wind blew the postcard out of my hands and into the Niagara River

The Falls were invisible in the rain and heavy mist

I couldn’t see them though my blouse and face were wet

I admit I’ve made some mistakes

You can close and open your mind as easily as blinking your eyes

Wanting to be elsewhere I am elsewhere

Wanting to be here I find my way back though the garden has grown thick with weeds

I will write an opera called The Opera Student

I know the story, I know that it ends badly

The opera student learns to die incrementally

Yet it may be possible to be sung back to life

It may be entirely possible to be sung back to life

I don’t remember what I ate a year ago today

A year ago today in Los Angeles the cat died

I wanted very badly to be, if only briefly, the rude sensation: messy and guttural

 In the afterlife the souls of lovers can be united

Writing these words it is no longer entirely clear what I might be

This morning I watched the slow destruction of the world

The wind dancing the storm clouds across the sky

It was impossible to decide what to take and what to leave behind

Am I fighting for my life in a comfortable bed?

The skies are clammy and the wind smells of sweat

And all the while people going about their business, conducting normal daily lives

So I sit in the garden opening my mind to my mind

The wind slow dancing the storm clouds across the sky

All that exists is the reel that unwinds in the mind of the wind

There is the sensation I can’t remember at all

The weight of his hand on my face

He turned to me with all the force of his terrible love

It crashed down and I spun like a top across the floor of the room

I spun into the garden and my feet sunk into the mud

It had either just stopped raining or the rain had just begun

In any case, in this opera, something started and something also stopped

He turned to me with the all the force of his terrible face

He gave me a watch with a very large face from the counterfeiters in Chinatown

I didn’t want to hold it to my ear

 I spun like a top across the floor of the departure lounge

I spun like a planet spinning amid the stars

It is important to walk into the black hole at the end of the airport corridor when your name is called

It is important to be able to step in or out of the room you are in

I know people who can only lean out of windows, waving or shielding their eyes from the sun and wind, sometimes the moon

the moon last night had a very large face

I have never shared a hotel room with love someone said as we waited to board the airport train

I have never shared a hotel room at all said someone else

It is important to have a key to the room you are in

That is what the postcard said

You can’t just sit there bending words to your will said the frogs and the snakes

It’s like flogging a pegasus grazing in a lyrical field on a lyrical hill

I leave the world without leaving the world said the wind

The animal that can say I said where do you go when you go away

The world is not the world the opera student and the soldier sing out the window of the airport hotel

I want to open the door to the room of my mind

I want to be sung back to life said the mythical beast.

No one can be opened by a skeleton key.