Amphibian
This week's poem, as always, with a touch of Aphantasia.
I can walk imagined footpaths on a narrow road by the shore. There, inland, sits a pond brooding, green, still and quiet. Beyond the glimmer of bleak rocks, crests of waves, tinted red with the sun’s last light, crash and tear at the sand, the smashing roar itself a force that threatens my footing. As I walk myself between the imagined waters, gut and heart writhe and shift as if to change places as my gullet tightens. A monumental envy rooted in darkened troughs. I will not witness these wonders, only imagine them without seeing. Whereas you will recall such sights with clarity, in your mind such images are yours from which to beckon such details as you find... And your eyes are focused on the edge of the still pond where a frog, robbed of its tongue, mute and empty bellied, watches the sun drown in the darkening water behind crashing swells, eardrums vibrating with every change, as the din never silent grows and falls away. If we were to change places, me in your mind and with your eyes, would I ever have seen the same frog? and taken pity at its lack of good fortune. Would I have saddened with the knowledge that I do not share this ability, and will never see a muted frog by the pond green and still.
Thank you for reading. There are more.
My initial post has more about Aphantasia. Have a look, and the poems might make a different kind of sense.
And please share this with any aphants you might have in your life. I am highly curious to know if any of this resonates with others whose mind’s eyes are dark.
—Alex
Glimpses at the Dark can be delivered every week.