3 poems by Mirkka Jokelainen

Critical Mass II

After Antony Gormley

Men hang from the ceiling.

Upside down, sideways. Not from their necks,

never from the necks.

Penises glued to thighs, nothing

awkwardly flailing,

nothing to deprive them of dignity.

Complete silence.

No one explaining what is happening, for once

not one of them explaining.

The space around rigid bodies,

bodies in the air,

is calm after a long exhale.

I took the eyes of everyone who has ever seen me

I took the eyes of everyone who has ever seen me and poked them with pins.

Not a single eye cried out.

They say an eye feels nothing

I say these eyes did not cry out.

I took the eyes of everyone who has ever seen me and buried them.

I did not bury them deep.

I wanted the foxes to find the eyes of everyone who has ever seen me.

I wanted the foxes to fight over the eyes with the cats.

I looked for the eye that had looked at me and understood.

It was gone into the fox’s mouth.

I looked for where I had cried.

It had gone to where it can’t feel.

I took to looking and looking and looking at eyes.

I held hands with the fox.

Its eyes told me I had been wrong.

I buried my fight with the cats.

Monologue on empty

I

I must understand how I arrived here.

I must understand why I don’t leave.

II

I never had the love I wanted.

III

Anyone can see that the reasons are not important.

What is important is leaving.

Anyone can see I am not leaving.

What is important.

IV

He loves me like an iron curtain. He loves me with the strength of a despot.

He loves me

to the camps

and back.

V

When I was a little girl my mother was a damn fool.

My mother kept speaking up when I was a little girl.

My mother

...

...

When I was a little girl my mother...

...

When I was a little girl my grandmother was a drunk.

My grandmother was brave when I was a little girl.

My grandmother had chosen to destroy herself when I was a little girl.

When I was a little girl it took her a long time to destroy herself until I was no longer

a little girl and her hand was warm but dead.

When I was a little girl I saw all the women and how they were cut smaller and

smaller and smaller.

VI

I won’t talk about the men.

I can’t see them for all the pieces.

VII

It is easy to blame someone else for all this hurt.

It makes me feel better.

VIII

All this understanding is making me less than ever.

Forgiveness will not change a thing.

There are two ways to it: all or nothing.

What I mean by that is guilt.

I could have done a lot of things differently.

I could have done a lot of things differently.

To have no regrets you have to learn.

To have no regrets you have to believe that certain things are important to believe.

If I could do it all over again I would do it all over again.

I would hold my grandmother until she is a little child.

I would tell my grandmother that it was all worth it.

I would lie to my grandmother until she is happy like a little child.

IX

Even in my most private moments I want to understand. All or nothing.

Love me

to the camps and back.

X

I believe my mother has been saved

I had nothing to do with it

if anything

I was a hindrance.

I believe my mother has been saved

if anything I am a hindrance.

If anything

I believe my mother has been saved.

XI

The only way out goes through waste.

All that love.

XII

If anything

I was never small enough.

If anything everything must be cut out again.

XIII

Hold me

to the camps

and back.

________________

Mirkka Jokelainen lives and works in South London. Her work has previously published in magazines such as Acumen, Lighthouse and Ink Sweat and Tears, and been shortlisted in poetry competitions. She aspires to be great at looking out the window in quiet contemplation.