Thursday, June 6, 2013

Written 04/27/12

It becomes a rhythm, the mantra

Dead, death, died, deceased

Then his name over and over again.

I can't decide if I am attempting to lessen the impact of the reality by constantly reintroducing the knowledge or if I am just torturing myself for no good reason.

Probably a bit of both.  At least now my nails don't cut into my palms when I begin my recital.

I will take that as a step one.

I can't even comprehend a step two.

Dreaming of Hallucinations

Something is in the hallway.  I can hear it breathing low and harsh.  There is a scrapping against the wall and the stairs creak.  It is heavy, the stairs are sturdy.  I can see the shadow growing as it lumbers closer.  It gets past the carpet and I can hear the click of nails on the tile.

I am in my 30's and I am hiding under my blanket like a 5year old.  Something is coming for me.  I am terrified and I cannot move other then to shake.

I try to call Emily tell her about the beast.  Once she answers, I talk rapidly trying to explain.  She tells me she can't understand, that she can't hear me well.  I look at my phone and realize why.  It's melting.  Plastic dripping from my hand.  I drop the remainder and pile on more blankets over myself.

Then I hear a voice, it sounds familiar.  It is Pen, my roommate, she sounds worried.  Does she see the thing in the hallway?  I lift the blankets off my head and then close my eyes tight in fear.  There is a woman in my room that has Pen's voice, but is not Pen.  I do not recognize this person.  I peek again, body of a woman svelte and tall with the head of a raven.  I think it is Pen, she has an affinity for ravens.  So I try, I tell her that I do not recognize her, but I think she is Pen.  I ask her if she knows what is in the hall.  She shakes her head at me and the feathers flutter.  It's too much, its too real.  I hide back under my covers.  I know there is something wrong, but I can't look again.

I ask her if she really is Pen to get others, others I hope to recognize. I hear her leave, and the beast in the hallway follows her. Nails clicking away and the harsh breathing softening the farther it goes.

I don't leave the safety of my blankets.

Micah & Emily, I hear them.  I hear them, but when I peel back my covers.  It is not them.  I don't understand. Again with the human bodies and bird heads.  I think if I wasn't so terrified I would be enthralled with the beauty before me.

Because I like it

Burning the Old Year
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Letters swallow themselves in seconds.  
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,  
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

So much of any year is flammable,  
lists of vegetables, partial poems.  
Orange swirling flame of days,  
so little is a stone.

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,  
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.  
I begin again with the smallest numbers.

Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,  
only the things I didn’t do  
crackle after the blazing dies.