Some of us are just wilderness children…

Some of us are just wilderness children.


We have no patterns for relating across our human differences as equals.

        —Ibram X. Kendri


One has questions of course. It starts when you’re just old enough to despise Jacques Lacan. I don’t give a damn about the mirror as metaphor.


In the monastery at Velamo
I took a sauna bath with a monk
Who was one hundred years old
And in the steam his skin
Smelled like strawberries.
“What do you like to eat?” I asked.
“Strawberries,” he said.


And so the war doesn’t end
Though they promised the young
It would be so—the dreamlike president
Spoke from a cloud all Jehovah and shit
I’m with you he said we’re all in this he said
But if you looked closely


Tree children hiding…


It’s like Dante, everyone
Up to his or her neck
In a self loathing stew
And down at the peace and harmony shop
They’re eating butterfly wings…


It was good, I saw, to have a secret. Let the other kids with their baseball gloves and bats have at it in the field. I had Pagliacci.


I wish to explain myself
I don’t want to talk to others
Where is my home?


How he spends his life
Believing there’s another,
Standing on his own shoulders
Looking out to sea.


In grass at dusk
Silly he thinks
A cricket animism


Late afternoon
Railway station
I’ve got Salvatore Quasimodo
Inside me
No one can see it

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: