K. Iwanicki

The work of K. Iwanicki is: beautiful, heart wrenching & indeed quite profound… 
It\’s always circles-
everything comes in them,
leaving out the front door
only to be back at its threshold
moments later.
These feelings from my past-
keep manifesting
the same reactions
like clockwork-
my body anchored down,
hooked deeply beneath the mantle
of this familiar life
my mind soars high
amidst the stars
from past to future.
And here I sit,
telling the same tale
that I\’ve told
so many times before-
It\’s the serpent eating it\’s tail.
I\’ve always relished the conceptual image of an ouroboros. At one point or another throughout the course of our lives we are destined to allow our psyche to genuinely eat us alive. See that\’s the funny notion about circles, a single infinite loop with no end and no beginning. Yet, an ouroboros has a beginning and an end but chooses to repeatedly eat it\’s tail — one perfect and concise circle. There is something infinitely profound with regards to the philosophy of symbols used throughout time — a circle always seems to be forever looping as we do during our lives. The end really appealed to me:
And here I sit,
telling the same tale
that I\’ve told
so many times before-”
How many times do we tend to repeat old stories, the stanza above reminds me of a comfortable couch at the ready to accept a hearty story worthy of laughs and tears.
*Minor Perturbation*
You are no longer here
but you certainly
left an impression.
Like a pertinacious wine stain
or nervous sickness
that sinks deep
in my system
sitting dormant
at the base of my spine.
Just when I\’ve forgotten
that you ever existed
you float to the surface
and show up
at two a.m.
and wake me up,
our sadistic ritual
So I lie there
for a moment
until a memory of you
flutters through my mind
but doesn\’t stick around
it just dissipates
like the flapping
of butterfly wings
and delicately negligible
yet it\’s effects can still be felt
all these years later.

There was one time after I\’d studied Macbeth in Secondary school I\’d spilled grape juice all over my mother\’s pristine white berber carpet – while I wiped I clearly remember saying Come outdamned spot! Out, I command you…” Yes, I was that obsessed with Shakespeare as an awkward teenager as much as I am now. While I scrubbed I kept thinking about the heinous act that brought Lady Macbeth to repeatedly wash her hands. 

No one ever enjoys the thought of uninvited guest they are beyond intrusive for words. The way K. Iwanicki expresses her disdain and disgust over this consistent obsessive call.
Just when I\’ve forgotten
that you ever existed
you float to the surface
and show up
at two a.m.
and wake me up,
our sadistic ritual
A truly painful truth we tend to forget…
*Disillusioned Oath*
We used to be so close,
now you only turn away,
you wont look me in the eye,
you wont even say my name.
We used to be so close,
playing games
and running round,
we would laugh
and we would cry,
only love
was to be found.
We used to be so close,
as close as any two can be,
our blood lines share
the same ancient line,
one that circles
and comes back
to you and me.
Now your veins
have dried and cracked,
all the love has disappeared,
your once joyful light
snuffed out
by inconstant
moody years.
How I ache
for your return
for your smile to come back
for our love to flow once more
for my brother
to come back.

One thing that I\’ve instilled into my children that was not well expressed to me is that my kids only have each other if something were to happen to myself or my husband. Blood should be thicker than water but; then again we are not able to convince the world of things they should or should not be doing – however when it comes to family. Family should never turn it\’s back on you but; in some instances they do – where you feel alone and alienated from those who you would expect would be there for you for years to come – abandon at the drop of a hat. I genuinely felt the words of this beautiful poem above – I don\’t know how anyone could read such a beautiful piece of literature and just not want to weep.  

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