Release and Other Poems

Written by Karen Escobar, Illustrated by Jaz Baker - November 6th, 2020

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For lease
the full 237
square meters.

Void of shadows,
full of promise
at the expense of
air.

For lease,
call Mr Lynch!
Make sure you
get in.

I am for lease
space I lease
My lease
Your lease
a binding Release

for purpose
I lease
find peace
in selling
the space encased
in four walls.

For lease
the full 237
square meters. 

For lease

For You. 

—Release

An elusive yellow shimmer,
the sunset orange cloud
tamely kissing fluttering wings
invisibly swaying on daffodils. 

An embrace from the torso,
the taste of warm cake
fingertips caress fresh linen
and lips speak a
mumbling melody.

An unfamiliar sensation
settles in a cavity,
a wink from
this neurochemical creation.

A realisation;
relax into the novel
emotion of
happiness. 

—Happiness

A lover you find refuge in.
She comes in the dark – seductively unannounced;
caresses scars and asks for their origin,
massages your mind in preparation for a confession,
Eyelids drop
                            enchanted thoughts                                                        stutter.

You begin to remember:

Mustard gas mist travels underneath a cotton shield.
Red. Hot. Pressing.
Routine dance of anticipation,
The attack common.
Body stills.
Air stops                                                                                                                                           
moaning
There’s an inhale               hold                                              silence                                                                    . 

A shield once solid is no more than a white thread blanket,
tightly bound flimsy threads.
Count – one, two, three, four, five    .    .   .                                      one-hundred     .    .   .
.   .   .                                                                              Wave the white flag I don’t have.

In ignored signals of surrender,
I become the casualty I was to begin with
accept the eminent burn with frozen limbs.
Time a non-concept.
Mist and I under an off-white painted lead roof – 

Twisted.
Impaled.
Discarded.
Once human.
Now haunting. 

The mist leisurely recedes attempting not to disturb
blind to all signs of distress –                      everything was          is felt. 

Cream sheet pressing bones.
Mattress a no man’s land,
memories for corpses,
pillows fallen comrades,
a fan accompanying their cries. 

In the aftermath I first experience the love of my mistress.

—Insomnia

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"As an emerging writer these poems encapsulate my journey over the last few years and I feel like they say a lot about me."

- Karen Escobar