That All Too Moving Contraction of Emotion

by Martin Solotruk


That All Too Moving Contraction of Emotion

Lying flat,

I was all in movement,

in the most unexpected places.

And out of the blue a gust

of cool magnetism.

 

“What if I get a head cold

off the wall,”

completely seized

by a rare feeling of eureka,

a savage, touching

 

film of exuberance,

hard to project

other than concentrically.

 

Is it because we aren’t

quite positioned yet?

 

Because we still feel

something quietly

coming out of the walls?

 

Something perceptible

only with the oldest

parts of the brain,

 

when we entered here,

a few thousand steps ago,

each of us placed a half-step differently.

 

We were exactly like that,

defined by the oldest

parts of the brain —

you by yours and I by mine

 

and now we are reading

under one hemisphere

of a lamp.

 

Yours is sometimes

right above your forehead,

mine beside my ear.

 

We’re reading under one lamp —

I mine, you yours.

Under one lamp,

but our fingers

 

sometimes wander —

mine into yours, yours into mine.

 

We still want to touch,

— to let a finger stop a finger.

 

So they would tingle together.

We’re here,

 

but the chemical traces of

our fingers aren’t yet.

 

I’m thinking of the relationship

between caressing and

touching walls,

 

of what enters me

through your touch

and whether I could get a cold from it.

 

Get a heartfelt cold.

 

Can the head

pass through its hard wall?

Without catching a cold?

 

Can emotion rise out of the body?

Even without the bitter white tears

that sometimes overtake the caressing?

 

While my head is cooling off,

may I at least wink at you?

 

So? Can emotion rise out of the body?

© Martin Solotruk, translated by Zuzana Starovecká