“I forced myself / kicking and screaming / into language.”
— Alejandra Pizarnik, from Wanted: Dead or Alive, Uncollected Poems: 1962-1972
When there's nothing left of you, well especially when there's nothing left of you. Grab hold of the little red thread (doubtful well don't I know how doubtful) and hold on hold on hold on. /
I am so tired I don't know what of me is left. The only call to arms at the moment is the call to my own arms. Remind them, remind those arms. To hold and hold you and to rock you to calm. To carry you back to the alive that is yours. To bring you. (Bring her, bring her.)/ I think I said something about rebellion. I think I wanted to say something about rebellion. Because once you know what it is. Because once I know what it is.../ There was something I wanted to say to you: (Was it to me or to you?) Escape from every box, every snare, every dulling down, every silencing, every small judgement, every sweeping judgement, every clamping down out of fear. (Whose? Whose?) Kick, scream, claw your way out. Breathe, be still, go inside. Find your way back. Don't surrender. The thread is yours, it is shining, it is magic, it is golden, it is waiting.