On liminality (in-betweenness). With thanks to dVerse for another stimulating challenge.
Every time I would tell myself that
I belong to the space
I'm occupying
(knowledge of landmarks; directory of contacts; taxonomy
of objects, each
with a story to tell about the nature of a given encounter),
I would drift into
the subjunctive: what a teacher once
defined as conjugation
of the infinitive
(I ask that he be present: his presence
not yet realized in the
act of asking and
possibly never to be realized).
In those moments,
the subjunctive always
took me away from where I was
to another space
I once imagined I would
occupy, save for an act in the realm
of the indicative
(conjugation of real
experience with the subject)
that made this
occupation impossible.
What if they'd given you the job you
were gunning for?
What if she reciprocated
your feelings for her? What if you
had stayed behind
(could have stayed behind)
in the space where you belonged?
Only with hindsight---
conjugation of the subjunctive
and indicative---
do I understand that
the realization of any what if is
a destructive act
without violence:
an obliteration of the present, the
space I occupy,
the space I belong to.
Space of the indicative. Fact
of presence. Life
in the liminal, living
always between what is real and
what is possible.
——
This poem, which I wrote in response to the latest dVerse Poetics Tuesday prompt, is something of an abstract sequel to an earlier piece I wrote about moving back home to America from Belgium. The prompt in question—with thanks to Dora!—was to think about the effects of a liminal or in-between space, be it concrete (a doorway, an airport terminal, a gate) or abstract (a threshold, a passage of time), on our lives—not to mention the poems we write about them.
Thanks as always for reading, and comments are more than welcome!
Between Two Rivers 
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