aarón gonzález | composer

Text by Rebecca Morgan Frank

Every few seconds, to recall captivity,
the mind slipping in on itself and its past,
and knowing it. She sounds like a politician:
I cannot recall. I am afraid I do not remember.

 

If only the mind could bury itself at the bottom
of the sea, wavering tentacles flexible
to the new currents.

 

Instead it rides the rising waves, bobbing up again and again, drifting further away from land it was not
meant for, from everything familiar.

And yet sometimes a detail will emerge, like a nose pressed up against the aquarium glass, the jellyfish trying to make sense of the nostrils, the dim lighting, how it came to be, and be here.