How deep will you get?

by Tamar Weir

looking at the world through your stained windows

its a sunday morning so you’ve opened up the blinds

all is there for you to see

but you’re only 20, life is happening to you

but it has only just begun, and eyes closed

makes it seem easier

the false illusion of simplicity

and days of resting on various couches

with different drinks in hand

fleeing to a different moment

constant movement

stillness, patience, consciousness, not so constant


because with that,

time is of the essence

time for processing

time for careful decision making

time for spontaneous non-decision making,


time to be still

nothing is constant

cannot push it to be so.

learning that.

slowly over looking at my mom’s eyes

I see myself in the shine of her pupils

dark seems to be black

but only with light does the black shine bright

mommy’s eyes tell stories

that I’ve only dreamt of

never felt in my body, not like this at least.

feeling it in my body,

I do not need your approval.


you are valid?

are you?

that’s what he tells me.

no confusion, machismo, ego. I know it’s there somewhere.

am I pushing?

I know how you love me.

was it all the breakfasts that kept you coming

and hungry

for me.

or was it the questioning?

mom taught me how to ask, why?

no punishment for the maybes and refusals to

simply say yes or no.


No one teaches the children to.

kindergarten is for playing.

but why?

why blue why green why red





be who they want you to be.

using all the whys and hows

how can I know every part of your body

without the questions

Elaborate. I think.

Tamar use your words. I deeply think.

he came from somewhere,

I’m from the suburbs a few hours away


white families with pools

lining the streets and avenues

distance will not separate us

although distance might have wanted to.

distance brought us together

together again 

and again.

learned habits acquired with time

mine different from all of yours

but the flow of verbal confirmations

stares, unite us to the present

water makes us collide,

as you steal my wave, or an attempt to shove

the patterns of the wind

and my uneasy stance pushes me into the water

the water feels safe, as it surrounds all our soles

the wet suit feels warm, as it starts to become


it might be cold outside

but with our shower beers in hand

and the yellow brick along the shower

I don’t feel a bit cold

wherever we came from brought us here

where we can turn on the hot water

and feel the comfort of looking at each other.

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