something that survives should be worshipped
It is that one that I translate in my head—
words are memories, silk and strewn, closer to god.
In the past you made a tent on the freeway
of stories and tears, there is only you, god.
The light flickers and shadows grow. To be
terrified of anything, full of humility, right god?
It is a secondary emotion, awe, as you’ve written
for no one, I must write for you— my god?
What looms over the shoulder of my mother
will not survive, I shall exorcise this moment, god.
All that is inherited must be relinquished
the form fades, Elias— silk and strewn, memory god.
Elias Pagan-García is a multidisciplinary artist living in Brooklyn looking for the granular in the everyday. He is an MFA candidate at The New School and is currently working on a full length collection combining poetry and visual arts. To read more of his work you can find him on instagram @eliasgarxia.