Beschwörung / Evocation: A Poem

What would your body tell me?

Now? Still? At all? Do you know

How to talk? To me? Now? Are you

Here, within me, listening, still,

Hungry for the inaccessible, waiting,

For a reaction, an acknowledgement?


Who would you say you are? Do we share

The same name? Does it feel right? What are

They going to do to you? For you, maybe?

What did you do, anything, at all, was it them,

Was it you, things were shifting, taking over, you,

Wordlessly, language stripped, language was never

There, you were kicked into it and swam, struggling,

Towards the shore, unknown, to transform your world

Into a language, your own, and they would never set foot in it.


Eyes from the past would still stare at you,

Evoke you, reimagining, longing, still, reaching

Out their arms and hands and fingers and nails

To catch you, grab you, hold you, repossess you

And everything you always had to give, they lack, you,

They want your head in the past, in the memory

Of their bodies that haven’t moved on, that are

Made out of old dust that is invisible now, that has

No air, no movement, deadness, lingering, they infiltrate

Their memories, looking for you, megalomaniacal, pressured.


You don’t have to go back, you know what it feels

Like to step back and sink, for somebody else’s sake.

They wanted to take your whole body, back, mould

It back to how it was, how they saw it, how they appreciated

It, deformation in the name of love, filtering out the old to

Suck it up, absorb it, taint the present, drowning in colour,

A second skin, subservient, suffocated, underneath, above,

Untrue, what do they want from you?


They wallow beneath the bridge of disconnection

And yawn your name across the waters, they

Want something to move, to wake up, to circulate,

They want you to make that jump, to stare back into

Their faces, assembling, bubbling, bursting, they create

Upward-facing chains with the echoes of your name

And you feel their weight, the heaviness of their desires

Projected onto you, you feel the pull, the air, the life,

Trying to turn its back, the focus, and yet, they rise from

Their knees, their diabolical prayers and stand up as much

As they can to reestablish the connection that has no place in the


close up photo of woman looking away
Photo by Flora Westbrook on



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