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Abstract

pool cocktail bar at a five star resort</p><p id="2bc4">aimless duck with no debts, a wisp of passing cloud, detached, haphazard, a living embodiment of fuck you money</p><p id="d778">bang in the middle of a burning world hemorrhaging war and climate refugees, housing ant colonies in millions of factories and call centers the world over</p><p id="ac40">in the middle of all this, the feather kept floating in front of me, as my pen hovered over my deadweight letter to <i>you</i>, my blood nemesis, my life long frenemy, my karmic bondage,</p><p id="5592">looking at that feather made me feel something I haven’t felt since I was 7 —</p><p id="9fe8">dreaming without apology, without ground or anchor, normalizing impossibilities</p><p id="f6d2">that age I just accidentally floated and drifted along</p><p id="eba3">easy right, easy left.</p><figure id="118e"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*AcCDmw7M1_kc1NyO-tmVeQ.jpeg"><figcaption>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@timmossholder?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Tim Mossholder</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/s/photos/feather?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Unsplash</a></figcaption></figure><p id="2b03"><b>© Carlo Zeno 2023</b></p><p id="a4a4">_________________</p><p id="e221">Thank you for reading, and thank you to <a href="undefined">Franco Amati</a> for providing this space for poetry. Here are a couple of brilliant p

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oems by <a href="undefined">Carla Mino</a> and <a href="undefined">Selma Othmani</a>. Enjoy 🙏</p><div id="dcc1" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-know-how-a-caterpillar-feels-2fc6e7353301"> <div> <div> <h2>I Know How A Caterpillar Feels</h2> <div><h3>I know how a caterpillar feels like. In that dark enclosed container.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*zk6-o2m_swYAD85H13DldA.png)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="e008" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/a-day-for-all-mothers-except-one-2975ecf746af"> <div> <div> <h2>A Day for all Mothers Except One</h2> <div><h3>Poem on a Withering Matron ..</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*UJ3u6XZQw24xwBUkjmgxXw.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="fee7"><i>Are you a writer? Subscribe to Medium using my <a href="https://medium.com/@carlozeno/membership">link</a> where you will be able to read, write, engage, and publish to your heart’s content.</i></p></article></body>

The Feather

A study in contrasts

I was sitting writing to you as a feather came floating from who knows where

it didn’t appear to have a plan

and yet I couldn’t stop admiring its grace and careless

levity

so unlike my careful, guarded words to you, my oak tree stubbornness, my deep-rooted wounds, this compromised weight of over-leveraged commitments, leaning tower of favors and failures, truths and lies and broken promises

this feather took its time, easy left, easy right, as I moved my hand on either side of it

the thing was traceless, burdenless, without grudges or backstory

I’ll bet the fucker didn’t even have bills to pay —

no deadlines, nowhere it had to be in an hour if it didn’t want to lose its job

easy come, easy go driftwood on a gentle sea a tourist with all the time in the world, back-paddling on a pink floatie in some swimming pool cocktail bar at a five star resort

aimless duck with no debts, a wisp of passing cloud, detached, haphazard, a living embodiment of fuck you money

bang in the middle of a burning world hemorrhaging war and climate refugees, housing ant colonies in millions of factories and call centers the world over

in the middle of all this, the feather kept floating in front of me, as my pen hovered over my deadweight letter to you, my blood nemesis, my life long frenemy, my karmic bondage,

looking at that feather made me feel something I haven’t felt since I was 7 —

dreaming without apology, without ground or anchor, normalizing impossibilities

that age I just accidentally floated and drifted along

easy right, easy left.

_________________

Thank you for reading, and thank you to Franco Amati for providing this space for poetry. Here are a couple of brilliant poems by Carla Mino and Selma Othmani. Enjoy 🙏

I Know How A Caterpillar Feels

I know how a caterpillar feels like. In that dark enclosed container.

medium.com

A Day for all Mothers Except One

Poem on a Withering Matron ..

medium.com

Are you a writer? Subscribe to Medium using my link where you will be able to read, write, engage, and publish to your heart’s content.