Letter To My Reticent Self // Kristy Snedden
Letter To My Reticent Self You, living on the spine of whatever book falls into your hand, cheering on the next word, even the familiar ones that don’t scrape up against your bones. You, I want to know you. Spilling out poetry in the middle of a hike, battling soundless, coarse dreams that would embarrass our mother if she was alive. You who murmur under your breath about unzipping a culture. You, I want to know how you open your paints when I would sleep, how you, stoic, even at the edge of your own cerebellum, ignore the binding of your throat to tell me today was a bad day. You, I want to know how you wake up between each snapshot how even malnourished you grow your hair long and curly, as if your brain’s sensory gate is teaching your locks to say, Come here! Come here! What in you, without reparation, grew a branch from the soil? You, your fingers fisted as a condition of courage. You, my inner insomniac grateful when night fall...
