(Art) Synesthesia and “The River Song” by Belinda Subraman

Blue Explosion, alcohol ink by Belinda Subraman

Age four I was called

by the wounded earth smell

of a freshly trimmed hedge

the way honey sounds

under a full moon breathing

my grandma’s scent of polka dots…

 

At the portal to fluid reality

my karma scope cast

lights of glad kindness

and legends seeping through me.

 

I remember sickness

every childhood disease

and talking to aliens

(probably delirious with fever)

but I remember there was magic

in a mimosa tree

and a belting for sharing

knowledge of my anointment.

 

They cut the tree down

and forbade the utterance

of anything not Biblical.

I said little for years

afraid of my tongue

and shadows greater than my own.

 

I’m past the noise of tidiness,

posted regulations

through 40 translations

and constant derailment

of what I might have been

without cruelty and jumbled senses.

 

From tasting pain in everything

picked and dying to now

it is the voice of the rock

not the river I hear…

with cinnamon periscope eye

 

(Meet Mago Contributor) Belinda Subraman.


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