Prince Bernhard and Lady Morcanta (Part 1)
The more I hang there the more I get wrapped up in him
Imagine myself in the chair I was sittin’ in
And every little thing he said comin’ back to me
I wrote this poem after watching a gif of a man falling out of a coffin at his funeral
Kill me at 5 am when its just started to get light If you woke up at twilight you'd never know if you'd slept the whole day away or not slept at all Commercialize my death and sell it at parties
I Couldn't Write You a Poem so I Wrote you a Love Song; Loss in Three Parts
(Note: This is a collection of poems back from April of 2015 that eventually got broken up into bits and pieces and manifested in different ways. This poem was never fully assembled, which might be why it feels incomplete. But I wanted to rid myself of this old energy so I’m going to post it here. That being said if you recognize a line I used in something else later, that’s why.)
One. Communication
If i could afford real estate id buy a piece of your time.
I’d call you to ask you if you wanted to move in but i think dont think you’d pick up.
You’d probably try and make sense of my disjointed voice mail but forget to call me back.
Thats fair.
These are just
My cicada thoughts
Born one day to fuck
Me up
and die
We used to spend hours texting everyday but
in this modern age you hardly have time for smoke signals
Ive tried sending you carrier pigeons but they keep getting lost and turning up months later
With my messages half dissolved in their lower bowels
And the rest of it shat out on my car window.
I used to fear mind readers but recently i find myself thinking it would be relaxing
To give myself so completely away
Two. History
You slept with a nightlight until age 14,
Which is probably why i only held your hand in the midnight of your room
Until one of us untangled in our sleep.
I always counted it as a win if my unconscious body held on to you after my conscious mind let go
that way id never know who pulled away first.
Though im sure that in my sleep im always leaning toward you.
At 13 in the unholy sun of your lamplight i began to shake
You let it happen for a while and then touched my shoulder
Asked if I was having a nightmare
I couldnt admit that my body had begun to tremor when I wished so hard that you would hold me
When you took my hand i said conversationally “yeah, it’ll stop after a while”
It hasnt.
Three. Hypotheticals
The silence when i say “i love you” on the phone is long enough to build and destroy entire civilizations. Far away from our conversation three settlers are striking gold and screaming, is it real? Is it real? Distant politicians shake hands and sign piece treaties. It doesn’t matter- their wars continue. The gold is pyrite. You mumble something and hang up.
I dont know how to write you a poem so i wrote you a love song and then I threw it in the trash. Later I will sort it into a recycling bin in hopes that it will live on in a more useful way. Maybe a children’s drawing. A new notebook.
Ive made it perfectly clear that I won’t be happy till i’ve somehow died for you.
They move me out of the cage. They seem to think that tying me up will lessen the chances of me hurting myself. My little stint with the metal bars made them antsy- they’ll never be able to sell a damaged Bot, and if I’m dead then I’m no use to them at all. I can tell I’ve upset a lot of the doctors because they grimace whenever they pass by, lab coats swishing gloomily. They’ve stuck sedative patches on my chest to keep me docile, and so when one of them comes around to bandage my head I can’t do much but snap my jaw at him ineffectually. I catch them talking about me once or twice, bits and snippets permeating the drugged haze that they keep me in; they’re thinking about moving the procedure up a few days earlier than planned. I hope they don’t- I’m not ready to lose myself quite yet.
I sleep.
It could mean anything. It could mean nothing. But if it might mean freedom…? “Help,” I rasp, and my own voice sounds foreign to me, too weak to be my own. The man freezes, and desperate hope sucks all the words from my throat as he inches tentatively toward me. Up closer, he appears to be around my age, 19 or so, though his features are impossible to discern in the dim, swallowed as they are by soft shadows. I can make out the slight crook of his nose, the curve of his parted lips, and the way uneasy sleep has crushed his short hair into a tuft on the left side of his head, like the plume of a baby bird. His eyes, the color of which is impossible to tell in the dark, latch onto my own, and I jerk feebly when he reaches out to grasp the ropes that bind me to the chair.
“Did they kidnap you too?” He asks, voice soft.
“Yes,” I whimper, and I think I may be crying, though I’m not sure when that started. His eyes rove over my face for a second, searching for some sign of deceit, and then he darts around behind me and starts to yank on the knots.
“There’s an abolitionist mole here.” He tells me, “She gave me this coat and directions out of the facility, said that she could disable the alarm in between guard shifts. We have about fifteen minutes.” On the last word the ropes fall slack and I struggle to my feet. I feel myself sway but just as the ground rears up to greet me he catches me under my arms. “You’re okay, you’re okay. We have to walk now- we have to hurry- can you walk?”
He returns me to my feet and whispers in my ear. “Follow me, okay? Keep your eyes on me.” I can’t, I think, but I don’t get the chance to express this before something stronger than my weakness pulls me toward him, like gravity, my eyes fixed on the flap of his coat. It’s impossible to tell how long it takes us to escape; I seem to slip in and out of consciousness, though he makes sure I never stop moving. The next thing I’m fully aware of is the sting of cool air and the sharp sent of pine. We’ve come out on some sort of loading dock and for the first time I get to see where I’ve been held for the past three days. A forest stretches ahead of us and if I look skyward I can just make out the peaks and valleys of mountains against the stars. For a second I am frozen- I’ve never seen anything like this before, I didn’t even think any wilderness still existed, but then I’m getting tugged forward again, into the shelter of the trees. “We’re supposed to head north until we get to the river, and then follow it downstream.” The boy says, his grip on my wrist warm. Then what, head back home only to be caught again? As children we’re taught that it is unlawful to force anyone to have the surgery, but everyone knows that there are organizations that kidnap attractive, Biopositive teenagers, and turn them into Bots. The government mandated tests we take we’re 16 practically make it easy for them. The government claims to be against it, but it isn’t a secret that they all but encourage them; after all, what powerful politician wouldn’t want a young, beautiful Bot working by their side? A few signatures forged and bam, you’ve suddenly committed yourself to being a Self Sufficient Humanoid Computer. Anyone who tries to defend you will be hung for treason. I know it happens, I’ve seen it happen, I just never thought it would happen to me.
I watch as the boy crumples up the directions and shoves them in his pocket. No answer to that question then. No clue. Nothing.
Again, I’m not sure for how long we walk; in my dreamlike state it’s impossible to focus on anything but the dappling of moonlight through the trees and the hush hush of pine needles under my bare feet. The drugs coursing through my system works similarly to a paralytic.; my heart beats sluggishly, and I feel as if I can’t get enough air in my lungs. “Careful,” the boy warns, glancing over his shoulder as he starts to head down an embankment. He’s just as weak as I, I notice, his arms thin and bony. “It’s steep here.” My head bobbles out a nod, and I try to mimic his motions. Grab a branch; let the roots guide your feet. I overstep though, my limbs are clumsy, and the leaves shoot out from under me. With no strength to catch myself I land on a root and get the breath knocked out of me, slipping and sliding on the damp earth like a ragdoll until I hit level ground. I should get up- should life my head from the ground- but I can’t breath, I can’t think. I’m just…so…tired…
A tug on the back my shirt rouses me, “Sorry, let me just-“ He pulls down the collar of my scrubs and hisses out a curse. “Three? No wonder you can barely walk.” A burst of clarity informs me that’s he’s peeled the patches off my back. The world is abruptly in hyper focus- the rush of water nearby overly loud, the chill of wet grass soaking my stomach worrisome. My limbs tingle and twitch as my heart stutters back to normal speed, and my chest heaves in search of stolen air. “Better?” I nod. “We can rest for a bit here. We’re just by the river.”
“I can hear it.” I pant, rolling over, and he sits back on his heels. I should probably sit up but I’m entranced by the sky; it’s the deepest, darkest blue I’ve ever seen, hung with a patchwork of glimmering stars. I’ve never been anywhere that wasn’t equipped with an Envirodome before, and though they claim that it doesn’t affect your view of the sky I decide they must be lying because I’ve never seen anything like this. Soon my trembling evens out into shivers- my body not used to air that isn’t temperature controlled- and to my surprise the boy lies down next to me, removing his lab coat and tucking it over us both,
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Annie.”
“That’s a good name- old. Too many Diamonds and Pearls and Tigers now.” When I shift to look at him he’s grinning at me. “I’m Clark.”
I smile back. “And you said my name was old.”
“Fair enough. Did you get that when they nabbed you?”
It takes me a second to realize that he’s talking about the bandages wrapped around my head, in the rush I had forgotten they were there. “Oh, no, I-“ I’m uncomfortable suddenly, and I twist back around to look at the sky. “Um. They’re from bashing my head against the bars of the cage.”
“Were you trying to kill yourself?” All humor is gone from his voice.
Was I? I’m not sure. Freshly captured, I was terrified. The kind of feral animal fear that sinks deep into your bones and devours all rational thought. Had I wanted to die? Maybe. “I…think so.” I hear him shift underneath the coat and feel him wrap his hand around mine.
“That was very brave.” It should feel strange to be comforted by this boy whose face I don’t even truly know, but it is like we’ve already bonded- in capture and terror if nothing else. I think he must sense this too, because he wiggles closer to me and says, “I was trying to starve myself, but they kept sticking nutrition patches on me.” I glance at him, but he answers my question before I can voice it. “I know, it seems like a pointlessly slow way to do it, but Bots don’t eat for pleasure do they? Just to keep their processers running until they burn out. It just seemed like the most… human way to go.”
“So you’re one of those types, huh?” I rasp, “Everything has to be poetic.”
He bumps my shoulder playfully. “Well I am a writer,” He admits. “That’s what I was studying in college anyway. I was going to write… books.”
I laugh without meaning too and he frowns at me. “Sorry- it’s just, no one reads books anymore.” Not when you could just get a Bot to look up a summary for you on their internal Internet connection.
He scowls at me, and says with more than a bit of heat, “Well they would if I wrote them. I was planning on joining the abolitionists eventually anyway. They’re getting really big you know- there’s talk of an uprising.” I grunt noncommittally, there’s always talk of an uprising. After a moment he removes the coat and offers me his arm, lifting me up. The rest has done me good, and we start to follow the river downstream, elbows knocking together. “It’s terrible, the way they turn people into Bots.” Clark says, “I don’t care if it’s voluntary for some either; they’re just too desperate for the compensation money to realize what a terrible idea it is. It’s just- they’re not really human anymore, are they? Self Sufficient Humanoid Computers. The surgery stops them from feeling anger and hate, but it also removes passion and hope- so what’s left really? Their processor burns out and they die in just three years, but they don’t even care. It’s just a horrifying waste of life, don’t you think?”
The question jars me, and I’m abruptly and violently reminded of Shannon. I had despised her, and she me, up until the day she stopped showing up to class. A few weeks later I had walked up to ask a Public Service Bot to search directions to a local restaurant, only to be startled by the familiar red hair and impossibly wide eyes. Gone was the snarl, gone was the sneer- replaced with an absent smile and a banal greeting. No irritation. No recognition. Just the question of whether or not I needed assistance. No, I had told her, assuredly not. Back in the present I murmur, “Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“Would you want to live if you couldn’t feel love?”
I sneak at glance at his profile and see my answer in his face. On the horizon the first pinks of dawn bleed through the sky.
After following the riverbed for a little longer we reach a large cement pit, all wildlife a fading memory against this vast concrete desert. “It’s a reservoir,” Clark explains, “They used them back when the rain water wasn’t too polluted to filter.” I follow him over to the side and look down- it doesn’t slope at all, just a sharp drop off with a long fall.
“Get back from there, you’re making me nervous.” I complain, staggering back and trying to decide which way to go. The cement seems to reach on forever- beige as far as the eye can see. “Should we find a place to go down or should we go around? A reservoir means we’re close to a city, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Clark cocks his head suddenly, like he’s heard something, and I strain my ears but don’t catch anything out of the ordinary. He spins around to face me, still teetering precariously on the edge of the drop off, and there’s something off about his expression- an abrupt wildness. The sound picks up in the distance, surrounding us, dogs barking and men shouting- it’s them. They’ve found us.
“It’s them!” I cry, “Come on, we can-.“ But Clark’s not moving, and his expression’s morphed- he looks… sad. “…We can still make it…” I plead weakly.
His face crumples in the face of my lie, “Annie,” He chokes, “We’re trapped.”
The barking kicks up in the background, a veritable wall of sound now, and I lurch toward him, desperate. “So what now then?”
“Well,” His chest rattles as he takes a contemplating breath, “We could get captured again and die when our processors burn out, blissfully ignorant, or we could-“ He jerks his head over the side of the reservoir. “Either way we die.”
Oh.
“It’s your choice,” He adds, studying my face. He has tears in his eyes. He’s made his decision, my beautiful idealist. “I won’t fault you either way.”
I look towards freedom and the sun shines bright in my eyes. “So you-“ He starts, and I nod. “Okay.” He whispers. Our captors are so much closer now, pushing us forward, propelling us toward the edge.
I think of my parents, my older sister, the future that had stretched before me, dreary and pointless. I think of Shannon’s frighteningly blank expression. “I’m sorry I never got to read your book.” I say.
The corner of his mouth quirks upward, “Yeah, me too.”
