Poetry Pause is the League of Canadian Poets’ daily poetry dispatch. Read “The Extremely Delicate Art of Losing Hope” by Karla Ssewakiryanga.

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The Extremely Delicate Art of Losing Hope

By Karla Ssewakiryanga

There are two ways to know I’m alive:

I’m breathing, and I’m anxious

There is imbalance in the way the days string together

There is no reprise in the harsh, continuous flow of living

And inhaling breath after jagged breath

While choking on the suffocating weight of being

So you lift a foot to place it in front of the other in an effort to see the ground underneath so the

sky above won’t swallow you whole but there is no sky and there’s no ground either

There is only fear

It has no name and no face, but you would recognize it anywhere

There is an element of surrender in terror

In knowing there is nowhere left to hide but here, and nowhere to run but deeper into the thorny

embrace of dread

You may believe that you left it behind you, yet it is always up ahead

There are two ways to know I’m honest

I tell you the truth and I’m anxious

I tell you my truth and my truth is that I hate all of you, which is another word for me, which is

another way to say that this small talk is boring

And I have never been good at the practice of borrowing grace

But I’ve always been great at lending space

And never being paid back

Which is to say there are debts that are yet to be settled

Which is to say I am unsettled

Which is to say forgiveness breeds few, but spite breeds several

There are three ways to know I love you

I’m here, You’re there, and I’m anxious

Now fold me within the arms of your promises

Tell me there is hope in the crevices

Silver lining lies between the rock of disbelief and the hard place of never quite feeling like

enough

I offer you no diamonds, but plenty of rough

We have always been the distance of our arms away from something real

And I’ve been reaching out mine in an attempt to feel the pulse of your promise and the rhythm

of your rock solid resolve

Tell me you see the future when you look out your window in the morning, and do me the

kindness of a fair forewarning

Say to me that of which I am already sure – love is an unequal wealth, and you are rich, but I am

poor

Offer me language with which to wrap up the darkness, let me give name to the abyss

I would call it something that reminds me of you

Something that sounds like my own name, something that rhymes with the weight of your head

on my chest

Something to pay tribute to the years I have never been afraid to invest

A memorial in remembrance of all the desires I now cannot forget

I would name this illness after the longest love I ever knew

Name it for timelessness, for tragedy

And the forgotten art of seeing things through

To the End

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Copyright © Karla Ssewakiryanga

Karla Ssewakiryanga is a spoken word poet from Kampala, Uganda who uses poetry as an art form to centre truth telling and self-discovery.

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