Friday, December 8, 2006

Prompt 7

Fear:
Something has come unlatched inside of my chest. Something's gotten loose; it's clamouring around in my chest, banging, immitating my heart--but hearts wouldn't dare speed like this, swerve corners and smash erraticly against ribs. It's taken my hands--they belong to someone else, now, shuddering and flinching and waving like I hadn't intended them to.

It's filling my brain with novacane; numb, numb, but I can still feel the 'oh my God what's going on ' flashes, like latex-free surgical gloves and spurts of pain when the drill gets too deep. I think I'm making noise, but who knows, 'cause my ears are filled with the cotton balls that taste oh so creepy stuffed beside your tongue.

Deep breaths, deep breaths--deep breaths like shudders, can't keep that away!--R.E.L.A.X., relax, relax--relax and make the shivers come, can't keep it still!--calm, calm, and it'll all be over soon-----


Love:
Love? Hearing your friend's little sister died in a car accident, crash-boom, on her way to see her sister at college, surprise visit, took her friend with her, both gone instantly. Don't know what to say to her, how to console her, because you're sorry, damn sorry, but you're still so glad it wasn't your little brother gone. (More kids died that year, like some curse--three in one month, four more throughout the summer, all so young, all so like your little sixteen-year-old brother.)

She makes jokes about it, says now she has twice as much space for her room, can read all her sister's books, has the whole house to herself, and you just press on a smile 'cause you know it's all crap, 'cause they never got along but she misses her more than anything. It's not like when your other friend lost her dad over Christmas break, 'cause the thought of losing a parent is like being chained to the rock and having your liver eaten daily, but you can do something, you can take charge and take care of things, you have a purpose to keep away the loss. But a sister dies, a brother dies, and all you can do is keep going to classes and hug your parents and pretend it doesn't hurt to come home and know they're not there.

You were always the mean older sister when you were kids; you were perfect, he couldn't do anything right, and you took your anger out on him and smile for everyone else. Later, you realized he was a person, and a wonderful one, and had great talent and had never deserved to be the target of your anger. And when he avoids your hugs and you 'cause he's a high schooler and too cool for that stuff, it crumples your throat a little, because you're oh so proud of him, of everything he does. And even if he won't admit it out loud, he welds you a coatrack for Christmas, and you know he really does love you back.


Nature:
(This is something I was thinking of working up for my poem. I wrote it in the Arb after a particularly bad day.)

If I come to you properly
in the light of day
through your proper gates
announce myself with the knock
of my feet on the first
cobblestones of your arch
Will you let me in?
Will you let me bask in
your sun and your shade
and your color and your scent?
Will you cover me?
Already the leaves are burning.
Already the crows are shouting
for my removal.

If I come to you illegally
in the dark of night
intruding your boundaries
sneak myself in with the swish
of my feet on the first
wildgrasses of your border
Will you let me in?
Will you let me hide in
your shadow and your moon
and your sound and your feel?
already the leaves are applauding.
Already the paths are cooling
to soothe my aching feet.

I know your rules:
Stay on the path
leave only footprints
Never consume what the
faeries offer.
But sometimes I need to
get away from the laws and
life and walk barefoot
through the gravel.
Will you let me in?
Will you cover me?