Poem Therapy at 1:04 P.M. - Elena Georgiou

Elena Georgiou

Questions In The Mind Of A Poet While She Washes Her Floors
Elena Georgiou

Will obedience leave me unknown to myself, stranded?

Is it enough for me to know where I'm from?

If I do more truth-telling will I be happier with what I say?

If I had three days to live would I still be sensible?

Is the break between my feelings and my memory
the reason I'm unable to sustain rage?

Am I a peninsula slowly turning into an island?

If I grew up gazing at the ocean would I think
life came in waves?

If I were a nomad would I measure time
by the length of a footstep?

If I can see a cup drop to the floor and shatter
why can't I see it gather itself back together?

If a surgeon cut out my mistakes
would the scar be under my heart?

How much time will I spend protecting myself
from what the people I love call love?

Would my desires feel different if I lived forever?

Will my desires destroy my politics?

Is taboo sex the ultimate aphrodisiac?

If I fall in love with the wrong person
How do I learn to un-in love myself?

Can I make my intuition into a divining rod?

Is music the closest I can get to God?

How many of these questions will remain
when I kneel to wash my floors again?


I discovered this poem and poet on my lunch break today. After reading her poem I wrote a few of my own questions. Try it, but don't try to compose a poem, just let your true questions emerge. The questions will find a way to become a poem. Here's mine:

My Questions - Danna

How many skins must I try on until I find one that fits?

Is it possible to find absolution in only one lifetime?

What happens to the lives of books once I've read them?

Can it be that thought and reality are fruit from the same tree?

Is it true that the end is present at the beginning?

Will there ever be a time when I don't have to worry about what I'm going to make for dinner?

Which ancestor watches over me?

If every moment is a white bull, am I transgressing for not worshipping them?

What will I do if there is an afterlife, a God, Heaven and Hell?

Is the universe a nesting doll, worlds inside of worlds?

Why isn't this body as fierce and strong as my soul?

How is it that I can love the intimate air that fills my lungs and not the dust motes trailing in the sunlight I brush away?

Will I ever stop demanding answers to my questions?