by Lynne Kemen
after viewing “Continuous Form” by Nishimura Yuko (Japan) 2020—washi paper
The paper is impossibly twisted, pleated
like skirts used to be. How is it possible
that this is paper? Nishimura Yuko's washi
folding into itself, holding a shape
it shouldn't hold.
On the wall behind, faces
also impossibly shaped, bearing witness,
watching.
Tensile strength. The word makes me think
of tension, how it translates to my own body
squirming to get comfortable, no longer able
to hold erect posture. Two total knee replacements.
Back pain. Neck pain. I'm so tired.
Pretti is our conscience. One of the helpers
who always shows up, who cares about others,
who refuses to look away. His phone
documenting what shouldn't be happening,
what we need to see.
I used to protest the Vietnam war. Kent State
terrified me—that girl kneeling, her mouth open,
screaming over the body. Some photographs
are that raw, that perfectly horrific.
Once I see them, they're in my DNA somehow,
in my body.
I can't stand for long periods now.
And I know I cannot look away.
So many do. They don't think it affects them—
until it does.
The sculpture before us, still whole.
Those circular faces, still watching.
We know fabric tears.
Lynne Kemen is the author of Shoes for Lucy (SCE Press, 2023) and More Than a Handful (Woodland Arts Editions, 2020). Her work has appeared in One Art, The Ekphrastic Review, MacQueen's Quinterly, and elsewhere. She received a 2024 Pushcart Prize nomination and serves as Editor/Interviewer for The Blue Mountain Review. She is currently working on two full-length poetry volumes. Lynne lives in rural Delaware County, New York.
