You were raised
On burnt coffee
Sometimes slender fingers
would knead
the crease of your neck
the height of maternal
urging
Saturdays
you'd parallel-park yourself
between two couch pillows
and drown in the sounds
of TV
until the room grew dim
and your eyes pilled fuzzy
Outside
she'd be
pulling weeds
and you'd stride up to the door
and lean
against the handle
nose to the screen
and wait for her to notice
And when she'd feel
a supernatural prick
she'd half-lift up
from her garden bed
and tilt her head
and reprimand--
don't stand
there like that
and stare
and sometimes
she would add
get out here
and when she did
you'd be flying
but mostly
she just said
go on
get back inside
where you would sit
and revel in
her acknowledgement
of your life.
A little fictional piece I wrote this morning after taking a sip of coffee! :P That, no, was not burnt. Or even strong enough. (didn't have enough beans last night, waaaaaah!)
Comments
Ohhhhhhh my gosh, SO
Ohhhhhhh my gosh, SO profound. So real. I felt myself in that child's shoes. Feeling emotional. :( Beautiful and perfect <3
I'd like to write a story out
I'd like to write a story out of this.
Though, you're right, it is a "fictional" piece. It's already a story in a poem, whole as it is.
Edit: "supernatural prick" jumped out at me, too.
Also "pilled fuzzy" -- I loved that. So creative.
And I love how you used the word "flying" and the double meaning -- like, she could be flying away, running away, but she also could be flying, elated. I'm assuming you mainly meant the second meaning...
And the last line...
THANK YOU, ladies! Your
THANK YOU, ladies! Your comments are beautiful little gems! I adore them so. And Sarah Bethany--ahhh, I always get excited when I see you've commented on something. I. Need. To. Read. Jed. It's going to happen, and it needs to happen. I just started skimming the newest chapter yesterday and your descriptions are so lovely and intricate, especially of Johnny Rose. How do you do it?! But anyway, flying does have a double meaning--both elated and the more literal movement. But I actually meant hurry out to help because the child's been called to. :)
Thank you both!
OH my gosh. WHAT a dope. I
OH my gosh. WHAT a dope. I just realized I read this entire poem COMPLETELY WRONG, because my brain mentally added one little word: "get out OF here", hahahaha. (Does your mind ever do that? Gosh, I hope it's not just me.) So I thought the mother was this really complex character who sometimes kneaded her daughter's neck but had a "push/pull" relationship with her at the same time.
Whew. Whoops.
I mean...(re-reading it)...she does still tell her daughter to go back inside, but my mind had laid a much more sinister overtone across it. Haha, I prefer this picture much more now. Still intricately vivid. I love it.
And no, no, you're busy with your own literary ambitions!!! No need to read Jed! He can wait. ;)
Edit: Also, Jed is dauntingly enormous in length. If you do end up reading it, please don't feel the need to comment on every section!!
This is, like all your other
This is, like all your other works, fabulous! The imagery and the slight bitter-sadness, the somber reality of a child that doesn't get enough attention, was just so gracefully captured! I love, love, love it!! D
"Here's looking at you, Kid"
---
Write On!
This was wonderful--the
This was wonderful--the storyline was so engulfing and your rhythm consistent. I love this a lot.
"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond
Love this bit: ~~~ And when
Love this bit:
~~~
And when she'd feel
a supernatural prick
she'd half-lift up
from her garden bed
and tilt her head
and reprimand--
don't stand
there like that
and stare
and sometimes
she would add
get out here
~~~
"Supernatural prick" is the perfect way to describe that feeling you get when someone is watching you. :) Well done!
I don’t thrive off of chaos: chaos thrives off of me.