30 2119 ICSA TODAY
Requiem for a Soul
(August, 2018)
There's nothing but a black hole
Gaping wide.
No matter what goes in,
It disappears,
And all the light gets extinguished.
Swallowed whole are
The hugs,
The kind words,
The praises,
The good grades,
The achievements,
The gains,
The awards,
The relationships,
The life itself.
Not Holding My Breath Anymore
This poem is based on a dream that I had after I decided
to end the relationship with my mom.
(February, 2019)
I thought it was safer to bite my tongue,
Speak in half-truths,
Keep a fragile balance
Of your faith and my existence
Hold my breath,
Hoping it would keep this candle
From losing its light.
But then the storm came
And forced the shutters
Open.
The wind whirled through
The dusty hallways,
Knocking things down,
Making me lose my balance,
And bite my tongue so hard
It started to bleed
It picked up a book or an album
and threw it in my face,
And for a split second I recognized my own face in
the pictures, screaming.
It put out the candle,
And now I'm stumbling through the darkness,
Realizing I don't need to hold my breath anymore.
I'm wondering if you will venture out onto the storm
with me,
So we can get the matches.
Safe
(February 2019)
Of course, I see a dream about
My childhood town:
The winding streets that go up the hill and
into the woods,
Here is my old house
Without the running water,
Some new people in it now.
I assure them that I can still speak Russian,
As I deliver a child I was entrusted with
To her parents
Safe and sound,
Her clothes a little damp from all the rain
That caught us on the way.
But I held her close as I walked
And she's now safe.
About the Author
Lilia Volodina was raised in Christian New
Testament Church in Krasnoyarsk, Russia
from the ages of 5 to 14. Even though Lilia
left the church at 14, she still had to live
with her mother, who remained a loyal
church member. To escape the highly
controlling church doctrine that she was still
being subjected to in her home, she moved
to the United States at the age of 20, never to return home.
She found out about ICSA online almost a decade later and
attended a workshop for those born or raised in high-demand
groups in the spring of 2019. During the workshop, Lilia and
another workshop participant spontaneously organized an
open mic event and invited everyone to share their personal
art. Lilia ended up sharing the poems related to her upbringing
in the church, living in the aftermath of it, and her complicated
relationship with her mother, who remained behind.
Lilia currently lives in the Metro Boston area with her spouse
and studies clinical mental health counseling and expressive
arts therapy. In her free time, she enjoys playing percussion and
mentoring beginner percussion players in a community brass
band called School of Honk. n
My Shadow
(July, 2018)
It lives off my silence.
It feeds on my shame.
Every time I think that I forgot about it,
It strikes
And eclipses my soul.
Except it lasts more than just a few minutes.
It lasts while I ,m silent,
Pretending it ,s not there,
Living in a twilight.
It looks like me,
And it talks like me,
This shadow,
But, please, don ,t be mistaken,
It is not me.
Because when I speak of it,
When I scream and cry about it,
When I show it to people:
Look, look at my big ugly shadow,
Pretending to be me,
Then, exposed,
it crawls into some secret corner
with a hiss,
Only to emerge
Once I think that I forgot about it.
VOLUME 10 |ISSUE 3 |2019
Requiem for a Soul
(August, 2018)
There's nothing but a black hole
Gaping wide.
No matter what goes in,
It disappears,
And all the light gets extinguished.
Swallowed whole are
The hugs,
The kind words,
The praises,
The good grades,
The achievements,
The gains,
The awards,
The relationships,
The life itself.
Not Holding My Breath Anymore
This poem is based on a dream that I had after I decided
to end the relationship with my mom.
(February, 2019)
I thought it was safer to bite my tongue,
Speak in half-truths,
Keep a fragile balance
Of your faith and my existence
Hold my breath,
Hoping it would keep this candle
From losing its light.
But then the storm came
And forced the shutters
Open.
The wind whirled through
The dusty hallways,
Knocking things down,
Making me lose my balance,
And bite my tongue so hard
It started to bleed
It picked up a book or an album
and threw it in my face,
And for a split second I recognized my own face in
the pictures, screaming.
It put out the candle,
And now I'm stumbling through the darkness,
Realizing I don't need to hold my breath anymore.
I'm wondering if you will venture out onto the storm
with me,
So we can get the matches.
Safe
(February 2019)
Of course, I see a dream about
My childhood town:
The winding streets that go up the hill and
into the woods,
Here is my old house
Without the running water,
Some new people in it now.
I assure them that I can still speak Russian,
As I deliver a child I was entrusted with
To her parents
Safe and sound,
Her clothes a little damp from all the rain
That caught us on the way.
But I held her close as I walked
And she's now safe.
About the Author
Lilia Volodina was raised in Christian New
Testament Church in Krasnoyarsk, Russia
from the ages of 5 to 14. Even though Lilia
left the church at 14, she still had to live
with her mother, who remained a loyal
church member. To escape the highly
controlling church doctrine that she was still
being subjected to in her home, she moved
to the United States at the age of 20, never to return home.
She found out about ICSA online almost a decade later and
attended a workshop for those born or raised in high-demand
groups in the spring of 2019. During the workshop, Lilia and
another workshop participant spontaneously organized an
open mic event and invited everyone to share their personal
art. Lilia ended up sharing the poems related to her upbringing
in the church, living in the aftermath of it, and her complicated
relationship with her mother, who remained behind.
Lilia currently lives in the Metro Boston area with her spouse
and studies clinical mental health counseling and expressive
arts therapy. In her free time, she enjoys playing percussion and
mentoring beginner percussion players in a community brass
band called School of Honk. n
My Shadow
(July, 2018)
It lives off my silence.
It feeds on my shame.
Every time I think that I forgot about it,
It strikes
And eclipses my soul.
Except it lasts more than just a few minutes.
It lasts while I ,m silent,
Pretending it ,s not there,
Living in a twilight.
It looks like me,
And it talks like me,
This shadow,
But, please, don ,t be mistaken,
It is not me.
Because when I speak of it,
When I scream and cry about it,
When I show it to people:
Look, look at my big ugly shadow,
Pretending to be me,
Then, exposed,
it crawls into some secret corner
with a hiss,
Only to emerge
Once I think that I forgot about it.
VOLUME 10 |ISSUE 3 |2019
