Poem 2
Young teen boy
stands on Commonwealth Ave
isolated from the bustle around him,
headphones delivering his own cacophony,
chewing gum,
seemingly in another place.
His tee-shirt reads,
“Kennedy 1917-1963.”
Before he was a gleam
In his father’s eye
And just a star
In the night sky.
Eve Remillard
6/13/2015
Hour Two: The Drowning
I have always imagined it to be
like walking on water, all the way
to Spain. Or Nova Scotia.
I’ve never been to Halifax.
There might be shipwrecks there
from that exploded boat
and I’ll be the one to find
the missing brooch,
a letter written in washable blue,
my favorite ink, when dry.
When wet it cannot be relied upon
to deliver the message as to why I went,
like Spaulding Gray, into the drink.
What is left to say?
No stones in my pockets, I rely on
the force of history to pull me down.
As to the reason, be it self-inflicted
or that killer who stalks for years
and finally strikes, holding me under
until I gurgle, like a full water bucket –
it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters
except these fish around me, friendly.
See how they flash in the water:
one last rainbow, rainbow, rainbow.
Prompt for Hour Two
meeting me in this treasure island
surely it is just the beginning of day
haunting of yesterday
doing the routine of the day
making sure everything
amazing and dazzling
just be honest to oneself
surely awaiting for the after hours
making the day so delightful
ending a night dancing till dawn
Newly Vested
In the calling of saints
may the bells ring high
and the vests worn with pride
the light shines bright
~.%
Going Under (prompt 1)
I lay flat, waiting for others to notice me.
Growing up, my fluffy pillows were the only thing constant by my side. I always felt invisible.
I would rest my head in dreams of tomorrow. In those dreams I always saw my self alone.
Years before, I received an ironic premonition of the way my life would be. While walking with my older brother around a lake we started poking at the dead fish, floating on top.
Standing off to my brother’s side somehow I fell in. Unfortunately, he nor I could swim.
The flailing of my arms against water waves served me no purpose. I couldn’t grasp it at all. I couldn’t hold myself up enough to breath. I could only flutter about in panic.
No arms, no hands, it all seemed imaginary. One slip in a lake was all it took for me to see that my brother and I was in a room alone.
Noisy and clanking I waited for someone to slip me a reminder that I was more than water at the bottom of shoes. Someone to tell me I was more than a dumb little girl that clumsily slipped in the lake following her brother’s lead. Someone that wouldn’t laugh at me but make me feel that my presence mattered.
I survived that day without invitation. There was no lap in sight that could comfort the emptiness I felt. My brother’s quick thinking of picking up a stick and handing it to me got me out. I really didn’t think he could do it.
People were laughing, or so I felt. I was too embarrassed to rest my swollen eyes, so I stuffed it inside.
Hours later I rested my head in the back the bathtub and cried. Leaves floated on top of my bathwater like those dead fish.
I thought to myself, maybe being invisible isn’t so bad as I pulled my head underwater.
The Adventurer
You’ve seen the fish, seen her home
the silver flashes ‘twixt the bones
the flickering motion of her tail
in the wild ocean from which she hails.
You’ve seen the bones, the carcass rotted
dark, alone but for the fish you spotted.
You know the cost of wandering deep
and falling, lost, in that soggy sleep.
Yet still you dive.
You imagine treasure in every reef
and with that pleasure comes belief.
A newer place, a better haul
drives your race to plumb it all.
You prowl the wrecks, you pick the bones
loot the decks of fishes’ homes.
With no pity for what you plunder
you trash fish cities and bash asunder…
…It’s how you feel alive.
Alouette
I feel the softness of you, pressed against me.
Feather-light, blood-warm, sugar-sweet saltiness
that is you in the morning.
Your lips at my throat, your hands at my ribs,
fanning across the indentations like a blind man
searching for the Braille poetry of our desire,
salt, sweat, skin. Holy trinity.
Before I strip you of your wings
and we consume what is our Fate with relish,
hold me, cover me.
Alouette, gentille Alouette.
Hope – 2/24
I found hope in a heartbeat
It hid from me for the longest time,
Just as a watched pot never boils,
is sought hope ever found?
I left it behind, declaring myself-by name, hopeless
Until a sleepy night where the moon intoxicated me- I shut my eyes, my head on her chest,
Her eager loving heart pumping beneath me
and by morning, my head throbbed with the newness
The surprise
Of the hope that welled as water in the dry places of my aching body
@ angel rosen