{"id":1713,"date":"2014-08-23T11:58:39","date_gmt":"2014-08-23T15:58:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=1713"},"modified":"2014-08-23T13:53:47","modified_gmt":"2014-08-23T17:53:47","slug":"the-raging-and-consuming-war-of-the-poeticsw","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2014\/08\/the-raging-and-consuming-war-of-the-poeticsw\/","title":{"rendered":"The Raging and Consuming War of The Poetics"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Part III<\/p>\n<p>When I grew too old to crawl behind the<br \/>\nred vinyl couch,<br \/>\nand we moved from my beloved Indiana home,<br \/>\nto a state where everyone spoke slowly and with a drawl,<br \/>\nI restlessly searched a new place to hide;<br \/>\nI secured a imaginary shovel<br \/>\nand began to dig;<br \/>\nmy first goal was to dig to China \u2013<br \/>\nfall through the sky and land among red Chinese lanterns;<br \/>\nafter about fifteen minutes of digging,<br \/>\nI decided there had to be another way.<\/p>\n<p>my mind took me back to age ten,<br \/>\nwhen I was sick for days and I lost my hearing,<br \/>\nmy mother refused to take me to the doctor,<br \/>\nand I suffered, lying on the red vinyl couch,<br \/>\nmy grandmother desperately trying to help me,<br \/>\nI emerged several days later,<br \/>\nmy world silent,<br \/>\nand so it would be for several months\u2026<\/p>\n<p>Memories of deafness still make me feel some anger;<br \/>\nit never should have happened,<br \/>\nthe 1970s had modern medicines \u2013 antibiotics,<br \/>\nmy mother never came to touch my brow,<br \/>\nor ask how I was feeling \u2013<br \/>\nI just rested on the red vinyl couch and moaned in agony,<br \/>\nfor days and days and days and days\u2026<\/p>\n<p>&#8211; Michellia D. Wilson 8\/23\/14 10:50 am<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Part III When I grew too old to crawl behind the red vinyl couch, and we moved from my beloved Indiana home, to a state where everyone spoke slowly and with a drawl, I restlessly searched a new place to hide; I secured a imaginary&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":21,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1713","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1713","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/21"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1713"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1713\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1717,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1713\/revisions\/1717"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1713"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1713"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1713"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}