Gloria D. Gonsalves
The Gallery of Introspection
An ekphrastic poem
1.
In the World War II documentary
John Boyega’s voice is a gallery
of hard truths from the front lines,
and I feel the display like bullets.
I am a poet, and usually it is words
that paint an exhibition for me.
2.
The front lines impasto is vivid
and I am a learning poetic canvas.
I tread carefully on my surfaces,
trying to fathom all past contours,
for I am the future, but this lesson
is a far-fetched harmony to seek.
My canvas is a colonized person,
who is now the colonizer citizen.
3.
In the studio of a wide TV screen,
the brushes of front lines paint:
allied armadas in the vast blue,
bombers streaking down fragments,
dead bodies scattered abstractly,
lands flattened by tanker strokes,
craters formed by bombing markers,
suicidal pilots transitioned to the ocean,
women accentuating a cliff by jumping,
boys mastering carnage calligraphy—
regrets and pride form a collage, and
even poetry adds tender minimalism.
4.
Of the colonized, not the colonizer,
how does this canvas own a cruel past?
When I try to speak to my beloved,
he tells me what I am grasping now
they learned in school for a year.
I love him, though my heart suffers
the past of where my studio is now.
Underneath, the soil is bloodied
and this canvas is soaked by it too.
The Tenant's Due
Responsibility and consequences—two words beyond the size of
my heart right now. I scold it not to weaken, not to react emotionally.
I tell it: Behave rationally. If it is too much, go weep responsibly
in one of your chambers. Surely, out of the four chambers, there must be
an empty or half-empty chamber to host you at these times. You have
the waiver of sight; look away before you see. You have a swimming
pool of good blood to relax in. You have a chain of fast-food capillaries
to feed you freely. Howling and wailing are prohibited. The neighbors
complain about your revealing poetry. You are clogging the pipes with
tears, curses, and over-mentioning God. Consequently, your privileges
are in jeopardy. As the landlord, I am obliged to reprimand my tenant.
Can’t you look away? You have done it before. Why not this time?
The heart walks out. Apathy saunters in and asks if I am renting.
“In December 2023, Netflix released a mini-series titled World War II: From the Frontlines. I had neither read nor watched intensively about the consequences of world wars. My knowledge was a scarce amalgamation from different sources. Years later, I am a Tanzanian-born married in Germany. It hit me how much of a responsibility I now bear as a citizen of this country. I felt double burdens, being born in a colonized country by Germany and now shouldering the atrocities it committed, and this poem is me attempting to articulate both.” —Gloria D. Gonsalves
Gloria D. Gonsalves’ poetry has appeared in various literary magazines, journals, and anthologies in Africa, Europe, and the USA, including being featured six times by the National/Global Poetry Writing Month (Na/GloPoWriMo). She has four poetry collections: Even Flowers Know That Water is Useless Without Roots (2023), Let’s Go Walking in the Storm (2020), Let’s Go Dancing in the Light (2017), and Mists of Sense Require Fierce Poesy (2014). She is also the founder of WoChiPoDa.com, an initiative to instill the love of poetry in children.