necessary whispers

observe. connect. make new.


April 2016

Letting Go


Confusion like a cloud of dust

Hovered in her hair

And sunlight caught each



Vomiting direction in a

Dizzying dance of

Pulling close and

Throwing to the ground.



Tangled and beaten

She ran her fingers through

Caught the knots

And skin tore off

Connected to sticky strands

Locked together

With grasping for thoughts

Not abiding by




She shaved her head

To stop the itch

Lice-filled reflections

Connecting teeth

And gripping her scalp

Until the day

She cut them out and

Watched them fall and

Heard them scream for help.



The sunshine and the rain

The moon and eclipse


Gathered ‘round her skull

The atmosphere

Was heavy

With invisible

Orbs of wetness and





She lay her head

In blades of grass

Body bent on a bed of mud

That drenched the surface

Where her crown

Once rested

Now a twisted mess

Blowing away.



She traded certainty

For chaos

Laid down security

For disarray

To the guard sitting

At the door

Of her heart

His badge rusted with




Alone and balding

Like a victim of


Whose anchors

Fire and acid

Threw themselves

Into her eyes

She stared blankly

At the sky.



“I cut him out,

the one who was

knotted in each strand

cascading down like braids

twisted and

wrapping around

and I thought

release would

set me free.”



Two minds—

Double you might say—

Projected their


Onto a screen

In celestial sphere

One depicted

Get up and walk

The other, succumb.



Freedom breathed

Into each choice

Clarity clothed in voice

Autonomy restored

To its former


She chose the hardest part—

Letting go and



copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(Photo credit: German artist Gabriele Ahrens‘ piece, Crosslinked.


Like Any Woman


It was not what she said


It was the way she held

The stem of her glass

Between freshly painted



Red wine and red.



She breathed in and out

Like any woman would


The silk in her dress

Gathered and fell

With inhale and


I waited for the next.



Her laugh was too loud

No clever disguise of


Formalized veiling her mouth


Candlelit stares

In the face of she

Whose savage joy mesmerized me.



There was a soulful tune

Permeating the room


Armor I knew

Well beyond its usefulness


I had grown accustomed to

Until I felt the thrust of she.



Never before had her eyes

Encountered mine

“Hello,” I said—

Enunciation tranquilized

Words fell all the way back

And slid

To the sharpest point

Of her black high heel.



It was not that I fell mute


I dared not dilute

Fortuity in the air

With words wrapped

In coherence or

Forced perseverance

Of my own understanding.



I held my hand open

For her to take


Gently cleaving

To the feeling

If she lay her hand in mine

Her touch would both stop and

Awaken time.

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(Photo credit: German artist Thorsten Dittrich‘s piece, Tree Of Perception.


Of Melody And Of Moan


The sky is hot like leather

Brown and coating our skin

With beads surging into streams

Of sweat


In the distance

A lonely guitar throbs

Crooning refrains of love

And regret


We toil long and

Hum the oscillating songs

One by one to forget

The hour


Bugs sway back and forth

On blades of green

Tired and scorched by fever and

By life


Women tell stories

Laugh with heads thrown back

Simple versions of disaster pulsate in

Their smiles


Men with sinewy arms

Pull from the lazy earth

Swollen roots of sustenance and

Of dreams


Children thump the ground

Like ragtime drummers

Beating rhythms of play and

Far away


The musician strums andante

Caressing silvery strings releasing

Vibrations of melody and

Of moan.


copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(This poem was inspired by German artist Thorsten Dittrich‘s piece, The Secret Carrier.





It isn’t the past

Upon which I stumble

It is the future


Dreamscapes far below

The airplane window

Of my soul


Traveling quickly

With altitude sickness

Not sure where to land



Waiting for Command

To tell me where to go


Turbulent escape

Parachuting down

Time to walk instead


Down dusty roads

Cracking dry

Under the heat of summer


I pass a burning field

A farmer destroying

The weeds that grow


Making room

For something new

To break through


On the ground

Is safer for me

And for my dreams


Sitting by the fire

Throwing things inside

No more room for them to hide


Lightening the load

Before taking to the road

A journey preparing


I can see you

Standing there

Fanning the flames


I can see you

Running around

Throwing water


I can see you

Laying there



I can see you

Running away

Wiping your tears


In the moment


It all turns to smoke


I will light my cigarette

Off the final



And turn to the horizon.

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson


(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist Heiko Müller‘s piece, Arrival.


The soundtrack to this poem for me:




Born into the beauty of Spring

Between a fog-covered morning and

Daffodils breezily performing

A ballet in minor keys

She was touched first by the sun



Our greatest star floated down

Like a blanket,




Her mother was gentle

Hands soft and graceful—

Rose petals against her fingers

Blushed in their inadequacy

To soothe pain

With placid refrains of


Sliding down from

Cheeks to chins

With whispers thin.



Her father worked the fields

Gathered to his chest

The yields he nurtured

From seeds into

Future nourishment


In straw-colored baskets

To a town where

Eyes lit with hellos and

Hands shook with goodbyes.



Buried deep inside

The beauty young

A grain of aberration was planted—

Roots grew long and

Slanted downward

Spreading wide

Like awns on Wheat

Piercing delicate organs

Changing the beat

Of her sunflower heart.



Melancholia filled the pasture

Of her mind

A harvest inward


Watered by heredity

Drowned in mystery

Tears stagnant


Breeding mosquitos

Draining from within.



Born into the beauty of Spring

She lived in the landscape of Winter

Bracing against snow-filled torrents

Of frozen joy—

A sculptor of ice into smiles

A painter of masks

Detailing profiles

Desperate to delight

Those she could not disappoint—

Ashamed to bare only flickering light.



Her mother named her Bliss

Her father called her Life

They held her hands

Through seasons passing

Interlocked their fingers

With her plans

Held her high for every eye

To marvel and admire

Proud of the child, the woman

They knew her to be.



Her outside


Silent cries—

A contrast of

Cheerful attainment to

Sorrowful containment

Wrenching from

The wish to please

To the reality of




As Autumn sang

Its songs of change

She unzipped her disguise

Let her discrepancy fall

And her hopelessness rise—

A coffin soft

Burlap and heavy

She sunk into the shadow

Where finally she could hide

From sunshine and from lies.



copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist moki‘s piece, untitled/2007 acrylic on canvas board 15x20cm.


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