V. H. King's Ink

Aside: The above art piece by Glenn Hernandez inspired this poem. I am so grateful for the opportunity to share how his art spoke to me. Check out more of his work on Instagram @glenn.hernandez_.

When All the Right Notes Fall

when i moved from my apartment
a few months back, i found a series
I’d forgotten about: self-portraits
where i chose to reflect my calling,
my spirit, more so than whatever
the mirror showed me.

almost ten years later, and i knew
the truth: i recognized myself
in those crayon textures and silken
permanent markers better than
any kodak from my past. my goal,
completed. and my gut, certain,
even when my heart sank.

i would not be painting or writing
the way i used to. i could barely
stomach the ache of that loss,
knowing the desperation with which
i clung to my creative outlets
for fear I’d otherwise die.

recklessness has always enticed
my spirit, whispering sweet
poison-tipped lullabies with
a silver-forked tongue. i have
rebelled in all the right ways,
reveling in all the wrong things.

whether death precedes me
or becomes me, I can’t tell; yet
there is some irony in having
such an affinity for that infinite
stillness when my reality has been
so much movement: decrescendo
and coda composed by the
hands of my ancestors–reaching

into the deepest atria of my sieve-like
heart, sewing up all those gaping
dreams with holy patchwork: and i
learned the sound of my own
hope welling up from my throat.
my lips tasted the silent satisfaction
of knowing the bodies and the blood
given to me. so i will take these,

in rememberance of every close-held
truth and unspoken faith: what warriors
we are, in the everyday arena of such
turbulent strife. some say we stand
on the shoulders of giants; i wonder
instead, if when we reach ourselves,
we meet each other as dieties.