Introducing a new series of poems by Julian Matthews. Julian is a writer and Pushcart-nominated poet published in The American Journal of Poetry, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Borderless Journal, Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Dream Catcher Magazine, Live Encounters Magazine, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and The New Verse News, among others. He is a mixed-race minority from Malaysia and lived in Ipoh for seven years. Currently based in Petaling Jaya, he is a media trainer and consultant for senior management of multinationals on Effective Media Relations, Social Media and Crisis Communications. He was formerly a journalist with The Star and Nikkei Business Publications Inc
Link: https://linktr.ee/julianmatthews
By Julian Matthews
Here. Let me show you where your poem penetrated
my soft tissue. First it mightily ripped my rib cage apart
like a retractor then sliced into my heart with the precision
of a surgeon’s scalpel entering parts I never even knew
were there. Then it circled inside every chamber
like soothing sea water, merrily gurgling as it went along
from atrium to ventricle to the other ventricle and the other
atrium, warming blood inside that had gone cold,
ridding me of toxins of apathy, cynicism and ennui.
Then your words went right through me and came out
the other side, scampered up my spine like a rock climber,
skipped along ever so lightly on the hairs on the back
of my neck like a tiny dancer, raising each upright,
as it went along, then it donned a wetsuit like a spy
and dived into my brain finding my amygdala, teasing
my emotions into submission, reigniting trauma until
I could no longer tell whether I was in flight or fright mode,
then rode my hippocampus like a seahorse,
firing neurons in its wake, then wiggled its way
into my prefrontal cortex slapping it around
like a drunken sailor, embedding permanent memories
in my neural pathways, then it giggled and slid down
my subcortical structures, giving me a rise just when
I didn’t need one, and I felt in some bizarre, surreal way,
we were connecting like two aliens projecting thoughts
into each other’s minds, and I was swimming momentarily
inside yours, admiring the decor, the well-thought out
interior design, how you made every syllable perfectly
in sync, how your lines were so tightly meshed together,
even color-coordinated, unlike mine which are a mangled mess,
flitting from thought to thought like a squirrel unleashed
at a playground, hopping from swings to slides to monkey
bars to merry-go-round then easily distracted by passing
dogs named Milo or Max or Loki and feeling like a two-year-old
again, my tongue struggling to form words, somehow knowing
I’ll never ever be as good a poet as you.
First published in literary magazine Masticadores Canada, edited by Ray Whitaker.
