he is methodical
this is the only thing that matters
now
he takes a dry rag
wicks away the water and tears
from the barrel, the stock, the action
mechanical sounds soothing.
kindling crackling in the fireplace
the preface to a blaze
his Rem gets a rubdown
removing dirt and debris lingering
from the last use.
the bird went down easy
he wonders how they will fall
he cares for every nook and cranny
now oiled up and slick, everything works
better when it's been well cared for.
he can't say the same for himself.
hunting is an interesting sport
falling things for pleasure
he eyes the barrel and wonders how
the shot feels flying
he wonders how he will feel
flying
the lesbian girl in my poetry class
sits in her stained red chair
dips her fingers into her jar of nutella
stares, eyes downcast, as she sucks the sweet from her fingertips
she claims that disdain towards her work
is considered sexual discrimination
“he can’t say he doesn’t like it,” she haws,
“he’s not allowed to”
she belches loudly during lecture, unapologetically
i wonder if i will ever have her confidence
her love in herself, her passion and fuel
i wonder if it comes from loving girls
girls like us
i wonder
This post is a bit different from the others. This piece is the culmination of my work in an intermediate fiction class. This is a rough draft that took around 6 hours to complete.
The Perfect Child
Arthur had been a perfect baby. He was his mother and father’s first child, conceived on the 8th September. His mother, Maggie, had an easy pregnancy, one that many women she was close to quickly became jealous of. She had no nausea, no fatigue, and had barely gained any excess weight. Her friends and coworkers marveled at how she seemed to glow all throughout her pregnancy and wondered, behind her back, what the trick was to carrying a child with such ease. When asked, Arthur’s mother just laughed and attributed it to her workout regime and her love of healthy foods.
“He’s apparently such a good baby already, I hope it’s all this easy when he arrives!” Maggie’s mother had laughed at the baby shower.
“I just want him to be healthy and safe,” Maggie had said, covering her still-growing belly with her hands.
Maggie gave birth exactly nine months after conception and to no one’s surprise, had an extremely easy delivery. She required no medicine and pushed for what seemed to be mere minutes before Arthur made his grand arrival.
He gave one great cry once his airways were cleared but he then quieted and looked up at the nurses and doctors around him with wide and curious eyes. He was handed to his father, Bradley, who gently laid him against Maggie’s skin.
“He’s beautiful,” the nurse commented, “and so quiet. You all are so blessed.”
And blessed they were. Arthur continued to be better than they ever could have hoped for. His weight and length were exactly as the doctor had hoped and he was perfectly healthy. His hair, red just like his mothers, was soft as silk. He excelled at breast feeding and many of the hospital’s consultants and nurses looked at Maggie and Arthur as model examples of good nursing techniques.
“I can’t believe he’s your first child,” another mother in the nursery said. “You don’t look nervous or scared in the slightest. I’m still terrified I’ll break this little one and she’s my third.”
“He makes it easy,” Maggie said, kissing Arthur on the forehead. “I couldn’t ask for a better baby.”
The family left the hospital and began their new life at home together. Arthur continued to be what everyone around him considered a perfect child. Within weeks of being born, Arthur was sleeping through the night in his own crib. He would wake to nurse and fall right back asleep, much to his mother’s and father’s delight. When it came time for him to begin eating real food, Arthur did so with glee. He was particularly fond of peas but would happily gobble up any baby food presented to him.
“I don’t understand how you two got so lucky,” Bradley’s father commented during Arthur’s first Christmas dinner that year. “He’s such a good kid. Brad, you weren’t anything like that. You raised hell the second we turned our backs to you.”
“I don’t know how it happened. I guess he got it from Maggie, just like her hair.”
The whole family, still gathered around the table, laughed.
“I don’t know about that,” Maggie said. “My mom used to say that I was quite the troublemaker myself. He’s still young, he has time to find his misbehaving side.”
“Better knock on wood,” Bradley’s mother laughed. “With all of the crazy situations that Brad got us into as a kid, you better hope that he doesn’t.”
“I’m fine with having a great kid, whether he behaves or not,” Bradley said, smiling at Arthur.
As Arthur grew older, changes took place within his family. After he turned five, his father got a job offer in a state across the country and his family relocated. Arthur began going to school and instantly enjoyed it. He was naturally intelligent and, as he advanced in grade levels, never struggled with the content presented in school. Teachers reported to his parents that he was often quiet in class but always performed perfectly on assignments. He found great joy in learning new things about math and science but he also loved to read. He took part in many activities and clubs, and, after some urging from his father, he joined a club soccer team. Unsurprisingly, Arthur was excellent on the field and quickly picked up on the new skills.
At home, Arthur was given chores to do around the house after his homework was completed, and he never had to be asked to do something more than once.
“Thank you, honey,” his mom said one day after he returned from taking the trash out. “I appreciate you helping me around the house.”
“You’re welcome Mom. I’m glad I can help,” he said, washing his hands.
“You’ve always been so wonderful, Artie. It’s so great to have such a good child like you.”
“I’m glad,” he said. He sat back down at the kitchen table and opened the book he was currently reading. He remained there, engrossed in the story, until it was time for him to prepare for bed.
Two weeks before his 8th birthday, Arthur was mailed a gift certificate to a local toy store from his grandparents.
“What is it?” he asked, looking at the small card.
“It’s money,” his father said. “You can only spend it at the toy store, but it’s just as good as a fifty dollar bill. Keeping it safe is your responsibility, and when we go to the toy store, you may spend it however you’d like. Grannie and Pops wanted you to buy whatever toy you want, so they sent you that instead of sending a toy that they thought that you would like. I know it’s not as fun as opening a present, but now you get to choose what you want.”
Arthur was thrilled! Fifty whole dollars and it was all his to spend. He couldn’t wait to go to the toy store now. His parents were happy that their son was eager to learn about monetary responsibility. His mother promised to take him within the next week, and he now had time to think about what he would like to purchase.
Friday morning rolled around and Arthur excitedly got dressed for school.
“Can we go to the toy store tomorrow Mom, please?” he asked, taking his backpack off its hook near the front door.
“Oh, honey. We can’t go tomorrow, we have to go with Daddy to his work for a party. We can go next week, if nothing comes up.”
“But, last weekend you said we could go in a week. It’s been a week, right?”
“Arthur, I said we can go when we have time. Please don’t argue with me.”
Arthur quieted and soon the bus picked him up. He sat in the seat silently, upset that he wouldn’t be able to go to the toy store and spend his money. It was his money, he should be able to spend it however he’d like, whenever he’d like.
Suddenly, Arthur had an idea. He turned to his friend Phillip, who sat in the seat across the aisle from him. Phil was the opposite of Arthur. He had always struggled with his school work but he was always very outgoing and liked to joke and play with classmates. He was overweight and the long dark hair that grew from his head often looked greasy and tangled. Artie didn’t mind that he and Phil were different, he actually liked that Phil had bothered to become friends with him at all.
“Hey Phil, I have a question.”
“What’s up Artie?”
“Do you know where the toy store is?”
“Oh, it’s next door to the grocery store! Whenever my mom sends my dad to buy groceries, he drops me and my sister off at the toy store and lets us play with the toys instead of going with him.”
Arthur thought for a moment. He and his mom had walked to the grocery store plenty of times. She liked to go early in the day when they put out the new vegetables, so during the summer when the weather was nice, he would go with her before Kate, his babysitter, came over.
Arthur could walk there on his own, he knew the way. He only had to walk to where the school bus picked him up, cross two streets and then turn left when he saw the Dairy Queen. On days that got too hot too fast, Arthur and his mom would stop for ice cream before walking back home. Arthur’s favorite was the Dilly Bar, even though his mom sometimes had to finish it for him because he couldn’t eat it all by himself.
“Artie? You okay?”
Arthur hadn’t realized that the bus was stopped and Phil was now standing in the aisle, staring at him. They were already at school. Arthur must’ve been lost in his thoughts for longer than he imagined.
“Just fine, thank you,” he said, then stood and followed Phil up the aisle. “Sorry for making you wait on me,” he said politely to the bus driver.
“Anytime, Art. You have a nice weekend!”
His plan was all he could think about during school on Friday. When his babysitter picked him up afterwards in her little red hatchback, she had looked at him through the rear-view mirror for a moment.
“You alright Artie? You’ve been pretty quiet. Are you excited for your birthday coming up? Did you learn anything in science class today?”
“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” he said. “I learned that today.” He had turned and faced the window while Kate drove them back to his house. His parents returned home late that night, and Arthur had already gone to bed when they arrived. He woke up when his mother came in to kiss him goodnight but quickly fell back asleep after she had tucked him in.
***
The weekend proved to be uneventful. All Arthur could think about was going to the toy store on Monday morning. When the day finally came, he dressed for school as he normally would. He tucked his gift certificate into the front pocket of his jeans and grabbed his favorite baseball hat. He knew he wasn’t allowed to wear it in school.
“Arthur! Let’s go sweetie, I have a meeting I need to get to!” His mother yelled. When he walked into the kitchen, she was tossing her papers for work together in a hurry.
“I can walk to the bus stop by myself today, Mom, if you need to go.”
“Honey, are you sure? I can walk to the stop with you but I can’t wait for the bus with you like I normally do, I have to be on time to this meeting.”
“I’m sure I can do it. I’m almost 8 years old.”
“You’re growing up so quickly,” she said and kissed him on the forehead. “Be safe, Artie.”
Arthur sat down to eat the cereal that his mother had made for him. He couldn’t believe this was going to work. His father had left for work much earlier, so he was trusted by his mother to lock the door and make it to the bus stop safely. It wasn’t the first time he had made the walk down the neighborhood street by himself, and there were always other kids at the stop waiting to board the bus as well. He never felt unsafe or scared when he was walking by himself. It was exciting to him to be able to do something on his own.
Arthur finished his cereal and rinsed the bowl clean before setting it down in the sink. He pulled his baseball cap down tighter on his head and picked up his backpack from the floor. He left the house, checking to make sure that the door had locked behind him. There was a spare key hidden in a rock in the garden that he would use to open the front door again once he returned home from the toy store.
He walked down his street and waved to the other kids who were standing alone at the bus stop. The breeze that was blowing threatened to pull his baseball hat from his head, but he held tightly to it.
Instead of stopping at the bus stop, like he normally would, Arthur turned to the left and kept walking. He felt the gift card, sharp and thin, in his pocket, and he smiled.
led Time: 1 hour, 4 minutes because I couldn’t stop.
On January 18th
we stood on the edge
of the pier, close enough to be
touched by the spray of the sea
when waves hurled themselves
upon the rocky ledge but still so far
away enough to not be drowned.
i should have stood
that far away from you
i demanded that the distance that we
withstood stood down
and on i held to the
thread that connected our
careful fingers, typing out
i love and miss you toos
but you did not hold
on to me tightly, you
withheld the love that i fought
for, worked to earn.
you held to, with great faith,
the leash around my neck
and you pulled and pulled until
i could hold no more
I can’t stand the smell of salt but
these drops don’t have
any other path to take.
Don’t you know that
the apple tastes sweeter
when sprinkled with tears
Where do I go from here?
Exceptionally fooled-
how should I have known
not to fall for a man
with stained teeth and
a wave in his hair and
orange in his beard
saying “I’d be okay
with you showing up
early to bother me”
I don’t even know. I blame it on word vomit. Total time spent on piece: 56 minutes.
Black.
Everyone wore black.
I guess that’s what you’re supposed to wear to a funeral.
If she were here, I think she would’ve worn a sundress. It would’ve been yellow, maybe even blue.
She wore blue the day she left me, left without a goodbye. A handwritten note on the counter, “I can’t do this anymore,” it read. “I love you, Josh, but I just can’t.”
I don’t blame her for it. Not anymore. I finally understand why.
She was unhappy. I understand why she left.
It doesn’t make me angry anymore. I think about the good times we spent together, and I’m happy that I got to have those experiences with her.
Like the one time she called me in the middle of the night.
“Josh, can we go drive?” she had said.
The time on my phone read 3:46 AM. “Sure,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my tired eyes. “Do you want to take the Jeep or the Hog?”
She had laughed like a hyena, loud but bright, at that. “The Jeep! With all the windows off!”
Then she disconnected and I obeyed her wish, just like I had every other time she pulled a stunt like this.
When I got there to pick her up she flew out her front door like a rocket, catapulting herself over the car’s door and into the passenger seat, landing in a heap of tanned limbs.
She had straightened herself while giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Where to, miss?” I had asked. The rest of the night is a blur, but I remember a few things, like the sweet, tropical smell of her hair as the warm breeze blew it from her shoulders, and the way the light of the full moon glinted gently off of her soft skin. I remember how, after stopping at a light, she turned her face towards me and whispered the words “thank you.” I remember thinking that I would never love a girl more than I loved her in that moment.
And now she was gone, out of my life like a burnt bulb. The black darkness remained everywhere around me still.
Everything around me was black.
The dresses the women wore, the suits then men stuffed themselves in, the back of the chair that I sat staring at. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing black.
Without seeing her.
Sometimes she wore a demure smile, dressed up at an event of some kind or another.
Sometimes she wore nothing at all, wrapped tight around me late at night.
Other times she wore that damn blue dress, on the bed on her side - the left, the pill bottle on her right and her skin like ice.
That was when I wished that all I could see was black.
Another ekphrastic poem. Total time to completion: 37 minutes.
Venus, Three Goddesses, Joseph Nollekens
understanding art
the gallery is as quiet as
you are, waiting. for
what response? that
of her, the granite, or that of
me? she will always sit
silenced, but you… still,
“I don’t think I ever truly
understood art –
until
I saw
you.”
This is an ekphrastic poem after the song “And Then I Woke Up” by Owsey. Total time spend on project: 48 minutes.
Overall, I’m incredibly happy with how this poem turned out. One of my favorites that I’ve written this year.
the storm of us
a quiet whistle
through the trees
the wind wakes leaves
urges them from slumber
they shake the steel from their skins
and flutter spin swirl down
the gentle ground caresses
mossy sponge pillow soft
she sways amongst the violins played
coll’arco as the thunder rumbles
fleeting, all fading
take her, feel her love there
until there is nothing left
but that love--
i wake up and
wish you were here
my desperate fingers reach
find smoldering desire
there is no lightning in
this love now
only the steady soft pizzicato
sounds of rain
and your heartbeat
and mine
