Poetry: “Begin Again” by Lisa L. Moore
The surreal nature and repetitive language in Lisa L. Moore’s “Begin Again,” echoes the desperation that many marginalized communities feel in this current moment. The repeating sonic element of “Let me,” asks for a permission in a way that many who are looking for support may find easily relatable, and there is a dual-meaning, as those who are the gatekeepers of certain kinds of power may not be so polite as they hoard resources and do not bother to ask. The poem echoes itself in many ways, but the hopeful notes of repetition as a way to restart and rebuild, using language as a tool and a home and a body, gives a positive and foundational feeling to this poem as we, artists, struggle to make sense of this world we find ourselves living in.
Begin Again
From the base of my skull flows a rushing cape
of no hue, a garment of watery coolness
and the pulse of my crown anchors
rags and fragments. The container grows
larger, fading fast and then more slow
and then dissolves. Dhukka, the teacher says,
means ambivalence. Let me in. Let
me out. Let me up. Let me down. Let
my people come. It’s our gift to the world.
Lettuce, radishes, dill and the freshness
of early summer. Beneath me, granite.
Above me, fruit. My body is the piece
of earth I am given to inhabit. Language itself
is a landscape. Begin again, begin again.
Lisa Moore
Lisa L. Moore is the author of the Lambda Literary Award-winning Sister Arts: The Erotics of Lesbian Landscapes, as well as the poetry chapbook, 24 Hours of Men. Most recently, her poems have appeared in Waxing and Waning, Nimrod International Journal, and Hairstreak Butterfly Review.
