This poem feels incomplete, so I need your feedback.

 

At birth, the umbilical cord is cut.

 

From this moment, the now phantom limb burns

deep in our gut, and wonders

how it’s ever going to

feel connected again.

 

Luckily for my generation,

never before have people been so

‘connected’.

 

With technology we can attach,

we can attach,

we can

attach.

 

But there are glitches,

mixed signals,

crossing between what we knew,

and what we now

know.

 

We know using our hands to swipe is a control,

and as such waving goodbye has become

a command.

 

We know that while

our eyes

give the greatest clarity and definition,

they cannot be trusted anymore,

because their shapes do not mirror

our rectangular visions.

 

We know our first words learnt are

‘iAm

 iAm i

Am’

and missing from our vocabulary is

‘we

Are’

 

We know the heart vibrates

when we receive messages from others,

and soon anatomy books will show

it being no longer in

our chest,

but in our pockets.

 

(Though every time we raise it 

to our ears, we are surprised to hear

no beat).

 

We know our ancestors could successfully

navigate all four corners of the globe

by repeatedly getting

lost.

Now we play a delicate

balancing act

walking, heads down, too scared

to deviate from the 5cm

tightrope screen,

we tip-toe to

the coffee shop

right in front

of us. 

 

We know how to like things,

how to like things,

how to like

things,

 

 

 

but not how to love.

 

 

 

 

 

E.