I Remember (excerpt)

Greetings, readers.

Here is a piece of a longer poem I’m working on, inspired by a prompt from this fantastic book which has become a vital part of my creative process lately.

The poem is several pages long at this point and still a work-in-progress. I will let you know when the final version finds a home somewhere.

Sincerely,

Mindy Goorchenko

***

Excerpt from “I Remember”

I remember my grandmother’s spotless house, well-coordinated, with long, wraparound couches in every room and matching maroon pillows alternating with flower prints. 

I remember my grandmother cooking dinner for her dogs, boiling pots of rice and chicken, and the effortless way she’d create a three course meal.

I remember my grandmother pointing to the mirror off my passenger seat in the car, casually mentioning that I couldn’t prove this world existed outside of my own mind, and that the mirror may be an illusion like the rest of us.

I remember my grandmother telling me about the voice–a self-proclaimed voice of the Holy Spirit. The voice claimed the universe was a black pinhole of nothingness, an accident, the result of a false thought. 

I remember grandma convinced we were the two women in sackcloth, voices of truth here to proclaim the end of the age.

I remember my grandmother teaching me that evolution was the sequence of evolving brain structures and evolving perception of dimensions.

I remember my grandmother typing hundreds of pages of jumbled notes and asking me to translate them.

I remember my grandmother taking out a copyright on the Theory of Everything which, once believed by enough people, would cause the entire universe to collapse on itself, wrapping up like a scroll.

I remember my grandmother getting breast cancer after self-treating her menopause with hormones from Mexico because, even though this world was a thought system, she apparently had the breast cancer thought pattern and insufficient beliefs about the efficacy of Mexican medications.

I remember my grandmother occupying over-sized houses, alone with her two dogs. I’m not sure who she was waiting for.

…to be continued.

 

© Mindy Goorchenko, 2018. Here is a link to my published poetry collection, The Latent Talent of Conception. Thank you for your support.

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