Will it? / It will

‘It will’ is an ekphrastic poem; ekphrastic poetry is poetry written based off a work of art. This piece was inspired based off the painting ‘Will it?’ by artist, Izaiah Miller. I love art because it can be interpreted differently by each viewer, just as poetry transforms and morphs based on the reader.

While it’s been a minute since work has been published on this site, I’m thrilled to be sharing this poem along with Izaiah’s complex and rich painting. The full painting is the first image below, with some of my favorite detail shots following the poem.

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“Will It?”, painting by Izaiah Miller.

It will

by Regan Smith

• • •

It will get better, 
these sound waves
bounce off my skull, 
never seeming to sink in, 
no matter how many times 
it’s been said to me. 

It will get better, 
Will it?

I feel torn in so
many directions;
nothing feels safe, 
and confusion seems 
to be the only constant. 

Every thought is an enigma, 
burdening, swarming, pulling; 
I don’t know which way to turn. 

Any attempt I make to
determine a direction 
towards growth, towards life, 
is thwarted; I’m on a leash
that extends only as far as my
thoughts allow me to be. 

But I have one foundational truth 
that flickers into my line of sight
from time to time–that the dark will always
try to choke out the light; for it knows that
once light enters in, the space transforms. 

So I lean into this direction–
taking a chance on the belief
that things will get better. 

It will get better, 
it will get better, 
it will get better. 

But I’m immediately met with: 

Will it?
Will it?
Will it?

Things start to become more
tumultuous, toxic thoughts cycle
faster, quicker, swelling and swarming
to a claustrophobic state. 

I see the pattern–
dark thoughts seeing a sliver of light, 
threatening their home, so they try 
and fight back with more chaos. 

But I take the weapon of intention, 
and kill these thoughts that made
up my past self–revolting against them, 
telling them that they have no home here. 

The chaos starts to settle, 
as the light begins to leak in, 
and any residual darkness dissipates. 

And standing in the rubble 
of my past mindsets, I look up, 
realizing I’ve lost everything that 
use to occupy my mind; and with a
clean canvas, I’m met with all that matters: 

An overwhelming peace, 
a moment of stillness, 

and power over my thoughts.

Sister Series 2020

Last year, I felt pulled to start a poetry series in alignment with International Women’s Day, titled Sister Series. In this series, I wrote poems with some specific women in mind, depicting past solely their skin, rather, penning about the beauty within their soul.

I felt a similar pull this year. When I went to go write these poems, I became overwhelmed with gratitude, for I’ve had the opportunity to become acquainted and know so many women over the past year. I decided to write every name I knew in a jar and picked out a few. Over the next month, I will be sharing these works with you.

While these poems were penned with specific women in mind—you will see your mother, your sister, your friend, maybe even yourself—in these poems. I want to encourage you to share these words with them, or even write a few of your own.

This first poem comes from a time I visited Ohio before I moved here for the second time; I was in the Columbus Museum of Art and started weeping for the people here. That’s the moment I knew that Ricky and I would move back here, and naturally, was the perfect poem to start off this series.

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Kindred

by Regan Smith

• • •

I walk through art galleries and weep, 
the paper and paint is beautiful, 
but these humans inhabiting this space
are what take my breath away. 

I see you be moved by an art piece, 
emotions emerging to the surface, 
until they’re shown on your skin. 

My heart is tied to yours, and 
with every atom, I can feel 
when you ache–when you have joy,
my heart soars alongside yours. 

And although today we may be strangers, 
our eyes link for a second,
and that scintillating moment
reminds us that we are sisters.