169: Where Science Ends

you're on the phone with someone — I don't know who

and I probably won't ask (after all you'll tell me later right?)

but you're smiling and your voice is warm and gentle

affectionate

and I sit back and watch you

because you fascinate me like an artwork in creation

once so rough all sharp edges jagged opinions and no-nonsense reason

you've softened

you've warmed

you've discovered something

and I don't think you'd be able to tell me

if I asked, "what?"

because you don't talk about it

you don't think about it

you're a realist a logician and these things

these things are silent sacred magical

only worked by magicians

in dark rooms after the clock has struck and the sacrificial wine has been drunk

and then the sparks illuminate the corners

in ways your logic can't explain

because it doesn't feel

it never felt

"feeling is sin," it says

and turns its nose up

(as though humans ever truly cared about their sins)

you did that too remember? you smiled so patronisingly

at the little girl who talked about feelings and emotions

and wrapped her in a blanket and told her to go back to her dreams

where magic is real

in ways you could never imagine

it lives in the dark corners in the stairwells and hallways

where we rarely stop to look

but I can tell

that that is where your logic

has lost itself

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: Please note that all poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been seen by our editors, and that the editors have suggested revisions where they see fit, but we believe that it is ultimately the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions and take no responsibility for which suggestions they accept or reject.