Be Still and Know

poetry

Be Still and Know

 
 

I don't understand peace—how to find it, how to feel it. I've only ever had a heart that's numb, or a heart that's raging and growing ragier.

Stillness: what would it feel like?

I don't long for it, but sometimes I picture it.

I picture it like falling into a blue chlorinated pool, suspended, limbs touching nothing but water, hair spreading out from your scalp like a small filligreed sun. When you open your mouth, it's full of the same cold chemical blue. All you can hear is the hum of strange underground regulators, the yawn of the water—hearing more with your skin than your ears. The pool is geometric, neat. The world is bounded. So is your time: you know you must go back up for air, but until then, your only sense is water, spread-eagled in a soundless square below the ground.