Cells of Release
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Book preview
Cells of Release - Fiona Templeton
inside
ENTRANCE
where the body begins
where in begins
turns
where you are
my body
speak it
after me
sign it
with yours
unused to it
cold used
I begin inside
with you
I was afraid to begin
as if I had not
as if choice
I begin where my feet brought
or hands found
without me
a space begins
does not touch
another space
brutal and delicate
a rigid limb of cells
body parts
an empty ordering
out of me
done to
out of mind
where my body opens
skin of not body's age
white, brown
embraces the pipe to speak
or points to hollow
between the lines
to save
sense
in time
marked on me
read out
of your minding
accountable
like a mirror
right, left reversed because the numbers look back
see you
where out begins
you is a word
speak me
against nothing
a voice begins
rewrite the long arm
held against me
in evidence towards you
seen empty towards you
ends in time
outside with you
turns back inside outside
believing your choice
my onwards necessity
of wall to hours
cell per day
my days their years
CELL 2
slip into this hollow
surface pushes its not
your surface their not
you pushing it in
I have moved to your body
my failure keeps time
where the mind cannot hold
a poor offer but passage
or throat
and tongue
read by inside
made naked my poverty of showing
did you steal a wallet
must a pen draw blood
I have a hand in this empty cupboard
the stains on the wall are from veins of relation
cut
to shame of imagining
A man stopped at the gate the other day. He spent fifteen years in this place, sentenced when he was a teenager.
He said, I don't think they should make museums out of what goes on in places like that.
but remembering warns us
Jacobo Timerman, Argentinian prisoner of conscience, wrote later how he hated the writer of the book that
reminded the prisoners of the existence of tenderness, and broke the barrier they constructed to survive.
so there's only the voice to give
mine
relation
these cold hands
climbing to write this
peering in darkness now
now offered to their now
this
as you read
cut now
cold now
separate now
the wall denied now
hand now
wall now
in now
body now
in now
down now
against now
through now
again now
again now
again now
again now
iron now
dust now
skin now
open now
shelf now
head now
shelf now
against now
Midas had the ears of an ass which he kept hidden under a turban. His barber knew but Midas threatened to kill him if he ever told the secret. The man was desperate to say the secret so he dug a hole in the ground to whisper the secret into it, then filled the earth back in. Reeds grew in that place and when the wind blew the secret of the ears was sung across the land by the breeze playing through the hollow reeds.
CORRIDOR
I'm fighting the amnesia of this single line of time.
My mind struggles in the air for loops of relation
but when I read the other side of the doorway it says
outside with you
the wall crackles under the paper
I don't want to alter its time-drawn maps
as if connecting weren't a change
I imagine each reader bending to read
multiplying into a dance
so the voice enters the body
CELL 4
the you of my voice is both you, reader
and you, prisoner
the you of body
for you I continue this scratching hand even as dark comes
my world is small but I add it to yours
its voice is little but sound tonight but I say it
handle, hand on it
door, open or close
knock
refuge perverted to prison
in is also out
of the world
CORRIDOR
even the darkness here is white
a refusal to shelter
in my choice to leave, voice carried to promise
the meaning of some words must be kept
in this world
for yours
so the word you can be heard without fear
between this line and the last
a night for me
but here goes on
yes, the made is a lie of the making
between many I freeze to