*
The Proof
after Marine Richard
In the loneliest moments
I will my body
to crumple, fold itself up origami-like,
do it so exquisitely
as to shrink and shrink
and finally vanish, pierce the chink
in the armour of physical law.
The city caused me heart palpitations
and nausea and migraines
and I could take no more,
so I left it behind,
came to a converted barn
with no electricity
in the mountains of southwest France,
where those cellular towers
are far off, where
an electromagnetic signal
hasn’t any business.
There are no emails out here
needing sending, no one asking
for a password for wi-fi,
but I miss Toulouse greatly,
the hubbub of its streets
teeming with people,
the urgency
and impatience of that life,
all its swirls of noise and colour,
all its little validations.
If I go to my door and scream,
no one is going to hear me.
I’ve done it plenty.
Nothing at all will stir,
the wind’s whistle
won’t even flinch.
Each day I go to the mirror
to see that I still exist,
then pass the night
convincing myself
the reflected image
of my body
is the proof.
*
Biography
Edward O’Dwyer has poetry published in journals throughout the world, such as The Forward Book of Poetry, Poetry Ireland Review, The Manchester Review, A Hudson View Poetry Digest, and Even The Daybreak – 35 Years of Salmon Poetry. His debut collection, The Rain on Cruise’s Street (2014), is published by Salmon Poetry. The follow-up will appear in April 2017.
Beautiful.
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