The House of Kairos
when I was six I learned my somersaults
forward, backward, chaining them together
until I couldn't tell when I was moving
I stopped, and stopped again
still rolling, the grass spinning
away from me and each flip
I knew my place from the beginning
even when no one else recognized it
that was the one thing I remembered
keep moving and mark the circumference
I knew I'd always get another chance
it was important that I keep going
around and around again and I assigned
a child's logic to it. We all spun the same:
the earth and the sun and the stars,
the fleece in my sister's hands
the sea where my mother's ship went down,
the wheels on the cart that carried me
past heavy gates with a heavier heart
to the stairs I would remember how to climb.
you knew your worth from the beginning
even when no one else did
that was the one thing you remembered
the thing your heart held onto
without prompting. you were worth
more than they knew.
I was out of reach, half a tick
off target on this rotation
not there to grab your hand
maybe this wasn't the first time
he spotted you, picked you out
of a lineup, temptation
at twenty paces and even when
you flinched away from his
painful grip, he left claws
embedded like thorns in the skin:
"forgetting is a waste of time
why not remember the divine?
hold tight to what is yours
so they cannot ignore you
so they will not forget you
so you will not be left behind again"
the idea was a slow poison
in your system, persisting
as he was whispering,
promising no more waiting
and no more re-learning
cracking open your circles
bending them flat into a line
only unbroken continuation
improvement over improvement
without loss
that was a lie
when I spun around you next
you were sharp fragments and horns
like the thorns growing from your side
your ideas were vicious
nothing would escape, nothing
would be forgotten, only
to learn and remember
what that meant was not what you intended
memory cannot collect forever
if you refuse to forget and remember
then you can only forget
I watched you circle away from me
over and over as I clawed
at any solid surface, any wall
that could hold me up
I woke up on the floor,
tried to sit up and the room twisted
it only stopped when I held still
whispering prayers with my forehead
sticky-hot against the sweating tile
I taught myself stillness
the sun beat down as I lay on a beach
the tide flirting with my heels
you didn't look when I called your name
air that had kissed me minutes before
was crisp now, I shivered as
cool damp breezes became clammy
icy rains came and the sand faded
asleep, waking came harder
slipping further behind
as the space I had to react
tightened, my memories
growing claustrophobic
I would be still. I was still.
I waited as
your touch became frostbite
sharp claws cutting into me even
when you didn't mean it, even when
you moved slowly and carefully
I burned brighter to stay warm
but my heart's kindling was emptying
I reached for you and found thorns
pulling away, dizzy at the red
drips spattering like warm spring rain
sudden movement sending me sliding
When I stood up, I watched the sea
fill the impression I'd left on the sand
shining like the sand had been torched to glass
in the shape of my body
then fading under another wave
until I was seaglass soft
and then gone completely
flame-charred bones ache as they're pulled
by dry leather muscles, moving
slowly, jerking like they're
coin-operated, shedding red rust,
an uncoiled spring, running down
a cracked gear somewhere inside
arms forgetting how to turn, bend,
forgetting how to be wings
farther and farther I fall from my memories
I want to forget, I need to
let go and run among the trees
without missing the sky and your open sea
I have to forget so I can remember
how to get close to other people
skin that has never been burned
healed, scarred, just an empty
new file and a blinking cursor
waiting for questions
so I can answer them
The Work of Chronos
I'm watching my drink in the humid air
waiting for my hands to be still enough
to pick it up; it's too full to drink
surface tension alone keeping it in the glass
time is no longer frozen
it melts down into the too-sweet wine
until it overflows, until it no longer matters
so I pick it up, trembling and sticky,
too grounded in my body
with bones grown up around my heart
like the thorns in a fairy tale
now my hands are almost still
they conspire against me yet, numb fingers
threatening to stiffen into claws
I can flirt with a memory there but
the sore-stiff pain always swells up
pushing me away before I get too close
slamming into me, an airbag in a car crash
so that for all my concentration
the glass falls anyway, leaving
a damp trail down my shirt
pale wine drops and darker stains
I remember rubies falling from my mouth
before I walked out of those heavy gates
I have no stones now, but the words
do their best instead, my teeth cracking
against the syllables and grinding
consonants into sand
burn it back into glass, freeze into ice
whatever it takes to make a solid foundation
I can see every weakness, every root
and weed sneaking in through cracks
to reclaim what is now mine
the cracks are new, but the vines
and thorns I know well. I have made
bright wine from these fruits before
I will do it again, in every season,
one year more tart, one too sweet
the hard part is knowing
that even the perfect bottle
will empty, flavors shift with time
and my tongue may dry or scar
I want this moment, tart or sweet,
sticky-warm with my hands grasping,
waiting-quiet between breaths,
or singing joy over the desert night
now this moment, and now this season
as the orbit is restored:
we spin together, you and I,
the earth and the sky and the stars,
the black sheep and the prodigal,
the priestess raising her hammer
to beat iron bars back into rings
I've heard that hammersong before
I remember this making
I remember you
I remember
Anamnesis is the platonic idea we have innate understanding or knowledge that is carried from life to life, but we forget it when we are incarnated. It's not unique to Plato, obviously, but variations of this can be found in many ways. We seek not to learn but to remember. Some ideas are just instinctively recognized- I've believed in reincarnation most of my life because it just made sense to me, even when I was Catholic, and much of the experiences that relate to it for me are about memory: connections, patterns, ideas that fall into place, things that are remembered when I shouldn't know them.
Recognizing patterns and remembering what they meant ties into my understanding of fate. Sometimes it feels like patterns are all we have, but there's more beyond them. When I stop grasping wildly at those memories, trying to drag them into chronos, and sit with those memories and those feelings and that understanding, then I can slip into kairos instead.