Loss of Words

Have we heard it all before?

The words of hope, despair, calamity, inspiration.

Words that may sound different but say the same thing, over and over.

Deaths, infections, PPEs, tests, flatten, curves…

Abnormal, new normal, shelter, at risk, disadvantaged

Heroes, vulnerable, and the host of alphabet laden shortcuts to names that are too long and inconvenient to comprehend.

In these times literary creatives find ways to chart new directions; scramble words and phrases to give us expended meanings, define a new reality or transform the old one.

Welcome Dionna Vereen.

Dionna Vareen (photo provided)

Dionna Vereen is an Afro-Asian poet based in South Jersey, United States. DV holds an BFA in Acting from Syracuse University, and spearheads a growing vibrant nonprofit devoted to local artistry, and the passions and potential of the community ( called, “SunGround.”) She enjoys writing and engaging with poetry on a psychophysical, emotional, and musical plane.  Dionna cannot express enough gratitude for aaduna’s loving dedication to making space for those who wish and need, as well as celebrating creativity.

The Because Poem

On the mornings when sun does not make it through the vapor, I carry 
my body to the edge of the mattress. Relinquish levitation of any limbs
Let my feet dangle let my head follow. Of all the sensations I do
not have this morning, I feel this. Plummeting intersection of body
and haze. The limbs are moving towards a poem. The poem looks 
a lot like the chasm between mattress and decrepit carpet at the
moment. The dangling head could use a poem. So could the feet.
So too the arms that carried the behemoth of a body to bed-edge.
Let us not talk about the bed. Or the dangling. Or the space that spits
its venom so chasmly between human and sickly-hued carpet.
Let us not talk about the sky vomiting thick films of thumping, opaque
rain. Let us not talk about the splintering atrocity of sun taking the cold
off of body-back. I write when my body is warm. Or to become warm.
I write my body warm again. Let us not talk about the cold. Or its striking 
attention span and fixation in me, contorting my limbs to unreliable taffy.
But of course we must talk, that is part of the point. This is part of the
poem. This is the poem that is still being written. For me. Because
I deserve a poem. For you. Because so do you. So do you.  so do you.  

aaduna - an online adventure with words and images - a globally read, multi-cultural, and diverse online literary and visual arts journal established in 2010.  Visit us at www.aaduna.org where we put measurable actions to our words.

Help us build community!  Share with your friends,  "like" our Aaduna-Inc facebook page and follow us on twitter @ aadunaspeaks !  

 aaduna-Inc  Visit regularly for updates !