Sarah Tallman

Dancer, Choreographer

“the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

-Jack Kerouac, On the Road

There Is No Who In The Box

It's been forever since I've written or posted anything...tonight I felt to write. It could be a future poem, or a piece of prose. But for now I just want to share. I've been hiding and I believe it's time to stop. So, enjoy. My intention is to share more. Your welcome...

 

There Is No Who In The Box

She poked and prodded. Her own mind gave way to the moment. Heart opened, she was moved and so she began. Up and down and all around, while in swift motion the undercurrent took her and spit her back out. She stayed the course and began to build a raft to carry her thru to the formless. And in the formless she took shape. The sky was no limit. She couldn't see with her face buried in the sand. And yet she continued. The raft grew walls with precisely cut shapes and intricacies only to be seen from the inside. There were no windows, no doors and before she knew it, she had built a well loved box. Made complete with a ribbon on top. She crawled inside. She could no longer sense the sky. And so she set out to sea. Throat closed, mouth dry, there is no key. Sink or swim, bob and wade, chewed up, spit out. She forgot. A gift to be opened but first must be given. And to whom? There is no who in the box.

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