Translation Imitation- Jeannette Beebout

Jeannette Beebout
“Translation” Imitation

There is such a thing as self. She was wrong.
Self comprises of thoughts, feelings, actions
and then there are other people’s thoughts,
feelings, and actions that make up some of our self.
Even in another language, you are
still and always will be you. You
are unique and abstract, you are positive
and negative, like each end of a magnet,
pulled together by some force, some…
attraction. The self is at constant change.
You can add things and take them away.
Feelings come and they will go. But not
the kind of coming and going that is
that simple. These feelings intensify,
and burn out like the last inch of wick
in a tiny tea candle, the last melted
bit of wax, burning off into the night sky.
Stereotype- it just came to me. Or fell
into my lap, rather, like a drunk baby bird
barely able to take off. Now that is
something that is falling apart.
That something has had it’s wings clipped.
I relate, no I feel for her. She is weak,
and although unique, she is just one
small blossom in the whole damn garden.
Couldn’t remember her even if you had three
minutes to memorize every last detail.
So like a ghost in a lighthouse,
neither words nor grammar were available.
Lodged into my own mind, can’t bring
myself to forgive or forget him. If you
flipped a dictionary to “stuck” you would
see my picture. Forget him. Forget him now.
My mind is the only place to escape.