I got up reluctantly, put on shoes and stepped into the night air.
I was immediately disappointed.
Instead of that crisp night air, the kind that reminds you what being alive feels like, it was warm and didn't even whisper to the skin.
I walked slowly, staring at the ground, being mesmirized by the rhythmic flow of my feet...
tap.
tap.
tap.
tap.
and listening to a melancholy song, watching cracks in the sidewalk creep in and out of my vision, tracing the little imperfections in the cement, and the whole time feeling misplaced.
I abandoned the sidewalk in favor of the street. Darker, wider, a little more free. No houses with all of their stories and complications looming over my shoulder.
I thought how useless it was to feel trapped in such a big world and began tracing the cracks in the pavement with my steps.
I felt like a silly little kid, walking to the edge of the street and back to center, following the loops and twirls created by nature.
I laughed.
About Me
- FIERI
- Mad Girl's Love Song -Sylvia Plath I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)
2 comments:
One night this past winter, after enough snow had fallen that the shovels had to be employed, the children came out to play in the bedroom, and a child-like fifty-five year old man bet a thirty-eight year old woman-child that she was too old to make snow angels. The woman-child couldn't help but take the bait, and she swore if it were not so late, she'd do it in a moment. The grey haired boy pointed out the full moon.
He dared her again.
He called to the other children--the ones who still could not get by the election auditor, couldn't belly up and order a Rolling Rock, were still safe from Uncle Sam--called to them and told them that their mother was a "chicken," that her mouth just wrote a check her ass couldn't cash.
The children came to the bedroom door one by one. The first tossed in a pair of snow pants. The next, a hat and a pair of gloves. The third had his boots in his hand and offered to lace her into them.
The results are on the pics page at http://myspace.com/silencewillnotprotectyou
(And there's a pic of Alice Walker there, too)
Trapped! Haha. I liked that!
Post a Comment