Elegy for my Master’s Thesis
When the anesthesia takes
hold my spirit / leaves my body
and gets lost somewhere—I’m always
getting lost—and some other spirit
comes inside me
when I’m waking up, some other
spirit who got lost and has been
looking for a home
for a long time, and I take
my place in a world of spirits who pass
but never touch, like some
shy canopy / reaching out forever.
There is blood there
and maygrass growing against
whispers—there are so many
reasons to burn your masters
thesis. The truest erasure
is total, but there are
still fragments floating/making
the air dim/hard to breathe
palimpsest. I’ve been wearing
a mask most days. Everyone says
the fires are getting worse and I
don’t have any reason not to
believe them so I wear a mask.
I would like to not think
about it so often. I would like
to not taste charcoal
on the back of my teeth. There are
different levels of being
burned and carbonization is
just the preservation of form.
How do you tell
someone what the ocean
felt like bursting? The church
was engulfed and mutual
aid was requested.
It’s not dark like closing
your eyes. Everything closes
to sameness. Thought:
oh no I’m dying oops.
Isobel Bess
Isobel Bess grew up between the Current and Black Rivers. You can find her poems.