Inside Yayoi Kusama’s “You Who Are Getting Obliterated in the Dancing Swarm of Fireflies”
Phoenix Art Museum, 2018
Long ago I learned the trick,
walk away when you see
your own reflection.
Walk into the hard swallow,
unflinching as it is. Uncertainty
unfolds like a firefly’s flicker. I know
my body must be swarmed.
What overwhelms me?—
Accumulation,
panoramic & breathing. Clutter
in my heart with many exits.
I am
amazed I have lived
this long. In the dark,
I hold one
strung
light, small as a pin, to my face
as if it will illuminate
the way out,
but like this room
my thicket of worry
eclipses
anything
giving way to light.
Source: Poetry (March 2023)