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Poetry


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in this moment

By shoelace

24 January 2008

hold on to every single one ..

the girl strums the guitar in the background
I watch the determination in her wide, flat thumb
its contour distracts me from the lullaby she is singing
I begin to focus on my own shortcomings
I glance at my own hands and
I wonder if my thumb were short and
flat
if that would help me master the art of manipulating that stringed wooden instrument
I abhor the audacity of such an inanimate object
and it's ability to cut through me
leaving my insecurities bleeding
like raw meat on a butcher block
I exhale and
I look at your face
you appear tired but calm
I want to take you away
I don't know where
or why
but I need those lines in your face that seem to heal me
we continue to generate our own lullaby,
a tete-a-tete about history
and old women in cowboy hats and life and opium
and how we miss our prime
we discuss the deep dark slippery slope from light to dark
discovering, the only way to climb back through that tunnel of darkness
is to anchor yourself to the edge
one sweaty hand at a time
my goodness, the attraction to attention is crazy
literally
and for a moment i feel uneasy around you
you reach over and touch my hand
and my anxiety slithers out the door
right past the small child that has fallen into a slumber on the old wooden floor
her small arms tightly hugging
a stuffed animal
they both appear
vulnerable
but comfortable
this takes me back to muggy summer nights in an old apartment
on Willetta Street
vulnerable
comfortable
sleep
and for a moment
it seems like this night was meant to be
even as the awkward silence
perches itself on the edge of my coffee cup
whispering
touch him
don't fight it
don't fight me
because
in just a short amount of time
this may all be over
so i have to be okay with just being in this moment
amazing how our pinnacle of attraction
is similar to that of
the large bottomed girl that approaches the songstress
asking for ink on paper
she idolizes her
you can see it in her chubby red face
I know how she feels
I look at you
that hat
that coat
those hands
that laugh
we reminisce on being locked up
inside our own minds
and in the psychiatric ward of creativity
and I'm still wondering
how we missed the signs
that caused our demise
and then brought us right back to this moment
where we are surrounded by a sleeping child,
a large bottomed girl,
a lullabying songstress with the short flat thumb
and you and me
and the notion of being crazy
or worse
being alone.

copyright 2008
c johnson-west

Reviews

Written by petetheverse (164 comments posted) 25th January 2008

Very interesting.
To be honest, when I first looked at this, I didn't read it because it looked too demanding - too many words stranded together, with no punctuation.
And the legs in my eyesight buckled at the thought of tackling such an unpromising, uncompromising tangle of undergrowth.
This morning, my eyes are more ready for the fray!
There are some very tight descriptions; but the sense of it seems to wander off, a little, before returning to the crux - which is the last line.
I do think that it needs to be cut, a little - I don't think that it's just enough to give us full-throttle description of everything that is going on aound you, interspersed with your own internal flaashbacks and commentary - is the sleeping child really necessary, for instance?
But the beginning - the idea that someone can achieve so much with an instrument, as compared to your own inability - strikes me as perfectly valid; and in a sense you come round to it again, full circle - if without any specific mention - at the end.
I've enjoyed reading it; I've enjoyed trying (but miserably failing) to dissect it; and, in the round, I'm pleased that I've read it.
Whether you will vary it - that's your decision.
PTV

Written by Phil (6719 comments posted) 26th January 2008

Interesting read - as the above - initially put off by lack of punctuation etc. It does ramble but it has some very pleasant moments. As a whole - it perhaps lacks a little focus. Just an opinion.

Phil

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