Poetic gestures are soothing.
I’ve worn small pins of flowers, invisible to everyone but me. And the times I’ve done this, I’ve imagined I’m carrying a secret garden. So I feel magic seep into my life.
But this feeling of magic, I’ve discovered, hinges on a very particular activity. The dramatics have to be in place: a small whisper, to call someone into confidence. The secret gesture of revealing an inner fold in my sleeve, “look, a flower I planted this morning…”
On one hand poetic gestures re-affirm my power to create meaning—meaning that I can carry all by myself. This meaning doesn’t rely on its being shared with others, it’s a form of poetry that I can offer myself. But when I offer myself the image of a strange miniature garden growing in the hidden seems of my clothes, I have to think of myself as another person, I have to see myself from an external position, in order to get the desired effect… the soothing warmth of being anchored in poetry.
I’ve worn small pins of flowers, invisible to everyone but me. And the times I’ve done this, I’ve imagined I’m carrying a secret garden. So I feel magic seep into my life.
But this feeling of magic, I’ve discovered, hinges on a very particular activity. The dramatics have to be in place: a small whisper, to call someone into confidence. The secret gesture of revealing an inner fold in my sleeve, “look, a flower I planted this morning…”
On one hand poetic gestures re-affirm my power to create meaning—meaning that I can carry all by myself. This meaning doesn’t rely on its being shared with others, it’s a form of poetry that I can offer myself. But when I offer myself the image of a strange miniature garden growing in the hidden seems of my clothes, I have to think of myself as another person, I have to see myself from an external position, in order to get the desired effect… the soothing warmth of being anchored in poetry.
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