Reckonings of Oblivion
Sam Rasnake

         —after Suzanne Frischkorn

           “I felt my body dwindling away, melting, becoming
           nothing. My fears melted away. And in their place
           came acceptance.”
                      —The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)

Let him shrink away then—this not-so incredible
shrinking man—all torso and legs full of arms,
Picasso-like, against the deep forest until he’s lost

among thick, wet greens and wood—not easily spotted.
Around him, the valleys fill, the level steeps itself, while
hills become uneven, and mountains swell into the sky
with its long ripples of dark clouds and heavy weathers

that must surely come. He won’t say exactly what
the darkness brings because his knowing has shriveled
as well. His world looms overhead, a shadow-Faust.

Each moment means fewer choices until only zero remains.
His eyes so tiny, everything blurs to oversize—so, scale is
meaningless. And the ears so small, everything thunders—
a roaring in all directions. His steps, mostly blunderings,

are unnoticed on the path—moving in the opposite direction
of everything, everyone. All possibilities behind his shoulder.
Obstacles are safe now, while the open is an unsolvable trap.

Every moment holds meaning, more than thoughts could
ever grow. His dreams are tiny—more feeling than story,
really. Simple, beautiful even. Every question, its own answer.
That’s all he has. Like smears of color in motion with no

focus. No stopping and no turning. Even doubt is beyond
his reach. Forever is an unknown he carries in his mouth,
and when he tries to speak, his tongue refuses to move.

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Sam Rasnake’s Comments

“Reckonings of Oblivion” came while I was reading Whipsaw, a poetry collection by Suzanne Frischkorn. It’s a powerful book. Frischkorn’s poem “I Too Love Oblivion,” more specifically, the closing line: “you are outnumbered”—struck a harmonizing chord in me with Jack Arnold’s brilliant sci-fi horror film The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) I had rewatched in the days prior to my reading her poem. The meeting of those two works resonated in a special way, and my poem was the result.

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