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Ileana Zea


I am a soul reborn
birthed from my own twin lips
softened in liquid life,
overflowing rapture
I am my life fulfilled—
ever changing re-occurring rapids
I am my own soul reborn—
self satisfaction—ready for more

As full as I am I still thirst for nostalgia
Nostalgia in tomorrow’s fruitcake
Blueberry blend with no nuts
Happiness is relative
As subjective as the melancholy soul which
interprets it
As subjective as the vengeful reader
It is as subjective as the gravitational pull of the
upon the puddles on my back porch

If a butterfly flaps its wings in the Sahara
And the winds are blowing due west
Then, I will sneeze in two weeks next Thursday
But only if the butterfly flapped its wings last July

I am my soul reborn
And oh how it feels to be of soft flesh
Raw, unscathed and beautiful
Yet mortal
Mortal as they come
but they come in all forms

Some come as the wind
Others as the sky
Still others as the rain
yet we all dwell amidst that
which always has been—the soil
But that is the most subjective of all
Who’s to say that we are the authority on reality
Subjective, relative reality

And who’s to say that I am actually my own soul
That I’m not just a piece from some mosaic
of kindred spirits—that loosened and fell
A figment of my own vivid imagination
So blissful in freefalling
That I fail to sense my own long awaited solitude

I am of the sky
Traveling by the wind
Falling as rain
upon such beautiful soil.