Autoethnography

New Nature, Christian Schloe

I do not need to turn and look back.

i have been here before

Some things are

just as they have always been:

The sky is fixed

above the horizon like an

O’Keeffe landscape.

The sun quivers like smoke

inside my eyes.

The dry leaves lie

sporadic and listless

on the ground.

The path follows

a swift meandering line.

I walk. But, now…

i’m so tired of pretending

This is as far as my feet will bring me.

I stand at the water’s edge—a fishhook

smoldering in my hand.

I cast. I bait. I switch.

The fish scatter.

I free my hands from all burden.

My fingers filter the sunlight—hook its

flames in a dance of latitude.

I sketch upon myself a raindrop,

a blade of grass,

a swan.

Bliss weaves my body

with movement and light.

My chest rises like an unbottled cloud.

  

I am twirling,

lifting,

airborne.

Look at me.

Look…

I beseech you.