THE LADDER
by Ira Goga
I sought to be free of desire. To see the fury
of morning & know it a doorway. I did not eat
for seven days. Exhausted of my body,
I did the laundry. What else is there?
The mind is a brutal room. It does not matter
that I am, nor that I am telling you this. Only
the simple marvels: a persimmon, the sky
pulled open by one thousand slender
threads. In order to see better, I'm taking out
my eyes. But maybe you are not convinced.
The further I am from myself, the more
I understand this portion of living.
This minuscule being. The ego is an enduring
syrup & o how it oils this ordeal machine.
of morning & know it a doorway. I did not eat
for seven days. Exhausted of my body,
I did the laundry. What else is there?
The mind is a brutal room. It does not matter
that I am, nor that I am telling you this. Only
the simple marvels: a persimmon, the sky
pulled open by one thousand slender
threads. In order to see better, I'm taking out
my eyes. But maybe you are not convinced.
The further I am from myself, the more
I understand this portion of living.
This minuscule being. The ego is an enduring
syrup & o how it oils this ordeal machine.
Ira Goga (they/them) is a poet and biochemist living in Vermont's Upper Valley.