The Vanishing: A Manual
Composed in the Manner of a Private Departure
Begin where life turns its back
and silence does not flinch.
Speak your name once to the universe
then lower it into sleep.
Withdraw from every surface.
Hide your figure in refusal.
When the light forgets your outline
the world will stop insisting.
Decline the frame that welcomes.
Step into what will not receive you.
When the grain forgets its pattern
you are near the gate.
At noon when time feels nailed in place
attach your shadow to an object
that will not carry memory.
Name what spoils unseen.
To erase your former sounding
pluck the vowels from it carefully.
Place them in a nest of stings
do not mark the site.
Continue until sky grows plain
and dogs no longer warn.
Where they cease their declarations
begin to clear the ground.
If nothing answers stay.
If something does be still.
Give it silence in your silhouette
until your shape dissolves.
Memory may send its reflections.
Boil what once contained them.
If it weeps respond with vacancy.
If it speaks offer decay.
Alter the way you move.
Become the cellar’s question.
Be smoke that knows
nothing of its fire.
When gesture leaves no trace
and shape forgets its duty
repeat the motion of never
until it consumes your name.
Do not return.
The place you left
has studied how to trap you.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
Bravo. Chef’s kiss of perfection! “When the grain forgets its pattern you are near the gate” This is vivid imagery at its finest