I dreamed we walked across the river,
our feet were light above the heavy water.
You laughed because it was so cold,
and I couldn't help but do the same.
You leaped and danced, hanging onto the stars,
swinging like you were young.
My mouth hurt,
so I covered it so you couldn't see me.
I thought we were a little the same, angel.
Except you don't need to draw wings on yourself,
because I could always watch you above me
aimlessly wandering across the sky colliding with the clouds.
I grabbed your hand for the hundredth time that night
and you lifted me higher.
I was stuck on the feeling of being,
and below me all the lilies bloomed.
You let me go and pointed your head back like the birds
and then came the full moon.
Beaming onto our eyelids.
I grabbed your hand for the hundred and first time tonight
because you were brighter.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
Ashes to ashes
This story is based upon a story I found in a book with a series of short stories about pain and struggle. This one was inspired by The Rialto by Jacqueline Woodson and Chris Lynch.
Kara pulled out the carpet today. Desperately, She ripped out piece by piece like weeds. Her house was dim and old, and it reeked of mold and ruined furniture. There was only one window in the house. It resided in the kitchen, which kept her house dark, the only other light emitting from the old lamp in the living room.
"Did you find anything yet?" Danny was sweating profusely, and had his hands were bleeding from breaking the antiques that his family had in the house.
"No, I'm still looking. Dad must have hidden them somewhere after he hurt her; I know it. I just know it," she whispered as she ran her rough fingers along the floorboards. They were full of small pieces of wood, filling her hands with splinters.
She lifted her hands and looked at the front of them, both black as coal. Her eyes widened and she began shaking calmly. Danny sat behind her and hugged her so hard her bones almost cracked. He jumped up to run into their dirty kitchen. He brought back a large broom and a newspaper. The date on that newspaper was from months ago, when they last left the house.
Danny picked up Kara's frail body and sat her down in the corner of the room next to the lamp. She was barely an adult but had the body of a starved child. Still shaking, she had her cold hands around her waist and her dead eyes set on the floor. She was wearing an old nightgown, and her hair was oily from days of not washing it. She was pale, but she was energy.
Danny licked the end of the newspaper and carefully set it on the ground. He half smiled at Kara, making sure not to upset her. Slowly, he began to sweep dark dust onto the newspaper, until the floorboards were clean and the newspaper was full of the dirt. He folded the newspaper a precise amount of times, seven to be exact, as if it were a ritual.
"I think Daddy had kept the jar from the wake in his room somewhere," Kara suggested, rummaging through his room. "Here it is."
She held out a small glass jar, painted with Egyptian designs and letters. It was golden and rusted, with tiny and intricate lines running through it. They exchanged reassuring, yet frightened, glances but were relieved they found what they were looking for. Danny dropped the folded newspaper into the jar and closed it.
The next day Danny and Kara woke up before the sun rose and sat in front of the jar, waiting. Danny's eyes were red and glazed from lack of sleep. His dark hair was rustled from tossing and turning.
Finally, the jar broke, and on the ground sat an older lady with dead eyes and mop-like hair. She was naked and dirty from the ash she came out of. Her skin crawled of wrinkles and burn. Whimpering, she put her face in her hands.
"Mommy, it's okay, we're here, we're here." Danny began brushing her hair back and holding her, while Kara fetched a blanket to wrap her up in. She fell into the strong arms of her son and began breathing deeply.
"Remember this, Mommy? This is the blanket you gave me before you got taken away," Kara picked up the lady's hand and rubbed it along the soft blanket. She smiled and started giggling.
"We'll make you better, I promise. And you'll never have to go back there again," Danny whispered.
The lady sat up, confused, and began to whimper again. Not because she wanted to go back, but because she was scared of what had happened to her in the first place.
The family laid down on the kitchen floor for hours, with the bright sun crawling into the room and filling their bodies with buoyancy and security. The old wood in their kitchen adopted this small glaze and the room seemed to come to life.
Kara pulled out the carpet today. Desperately, She ripped out piece by piece like weeds. Her house was dim and old, and it reeked of mold and ruined furniture. There was only one window in the house. It resided in the kitchen, which kept her house dark, the only other light emitting from the old lamp in the living room.
"Did you find anything yet?" Danny was sweating profusely, and had his hands were bleeding from breaking the antiques that his family had in the house.
"No, I'm still looking. Dad must have hidden them somewhere after he hurt her; I know it. I just know it," she whispered as she ran her rough fingers along the floorboards. They were full of small pieces of wood, filling her hands with splinters.
She lifted her hands and looked at the front of them, both black as coal. Her eyes widened and she began shaking calmly. Danny sat behind her and hugged her so hard her bones almost cracked. He jumped up to run into their dirty kitchen. He brought back a large broom and a newspaper. The date on that newspaper was from months ago, when they last left the house.
Danny picked up Kara's frail body and sat her down in the corner of the room next to the lamp. She was barely an adult but had the body of a starved child. Still shaking, she had her cold hands around her waist and her dead eyes set on the floor. She was wearing an old nightgown, and her hair was oily from days of not washing it. She was pale, but she was energy.
Danny licked the end of the newspaper and carefully set it on the ground. He half smiled at Kara, making sure not to upset her. Slowly, he began to sweep dark dust onto the newspaper, until the floorboards were clean and the newspaper was full of the dirt. He folded the newspaper a precise amount of times, seven to be exact, as if it were a ritual.
"I think Daddy had kept the jar from the wake in his room somewhere," Kara suggested, rummaging through his room. "Here it is."
She held out a small glass jar, painted with Egyptian designs and letters. It was golden and rusted, with tiny and intricate lines running through it. They exchanged reassuring, yet frightened, glances but were relieved they found what they were looking for. Danny dropped the folded newspaper into the jar and closed it.
The next day Danny and Kara woke up before the sun rose and sat in front of the jar, waiting. Danny's eyes were red and glazed from lack of sleep. His dark hair was rustled from tossing and turning.
Finally, the jar broke, and on the ground sat an older lady with dead eyes and mop-like hair. She was naked and dirty from the ash she came out of. Her skin crawled of wrinkles and burn. Whimpering, she put her face in her hands.
"Mommy, it's okay, we're here, we're here." Danny began brushing her hair back and holding her, while Kara fetched a blanket to wrap her up in. She fell into the strong arms of her son and began breathing deeply.
"Remember this, Mommy? This is the blanket you gave me before you got taken away," Kara picked up the lady's hand and rubbed it along the soft blanket. She smiled and started giggling.
"We'll make you better, I promise. And you'll never have to go back there again," Danny whispered.
The lady sat up, confused, and began to whimper again. Not because she wanted to go back, but because she was scared of what had happened to her in the first place.
The family laid down on the kitchen floor for hours, with the bright sun crawling into the room and filling their bodies with buoyancy and security. The old wood in their kitchen adopted this small glaze and the room seemed to come to life.
Hands
Your nails hover over my lips with buoyancy. Light, steady, and gradual, withholding last moments with me. Like slow wind, they capture and lift the pink to the sky, just to please the sun. Up there, we are touched, pressed, and shaped into young clouds to replace the old.
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