The Walking Wounded
I mentioned in my last entry that Jen had suggested I try writing more personal poetry to help me get through this depressive slump, and I did that today (my sister and I had to skip the movie after all, since the kids wanted to come home from their dad's house early. Can't say I blame them). I didn't sit & edit it a thousand times the way I would a fic, though; I just wrote what I felt, and mostly left it at that. So it may not meet my usual standards, but I figure that doesn't really matter. I'm not doing this to impress anyone, though I would be happy of course if it resonated with others.
***
Beep
This is the simple, unexpected sound of a life ending.
Take heed.
It's always unexpected.
Year after year,
decade after decade --
365 days of tears, fears,
and joy --
"I'll see you tomorrow" tossed over one's shoulder with ease,
all concluding empty-handed with a single note
and the quick shuffle of feet.
She's not going anywhere...what's the rush?
Cords are being removed;
a new bed is already being prepared.
(There's always a tomorrow
until there's not)
I remember my sister in hysterics,
being pulled away in slow-motion.
I remember the window to my right
& the distant street below -- quiet,
unbidden images of walking in front of the first car I saw.
Everything ending,
crashing into pieces;
wishes that never came true
now never could.
I remember watching her steadily fading heartbeat on the machine,
helpless --
hollow numbers dropping
down, down, down.
97...
...75
54...
...56? Wait...
47, no...
...16
4...
I remember being surprised
by the actual sight of blue skin.
It happened so fast. I barely had time to think.
After hours of standing & waiting & hoping, my mother was
unplugged like a lamp,
and it all came down
to a matter of perfunctory minutes.
Like it meant nothing.
Like we meant nothing.
Would you like to speak with a pastor?
No, asshole,
I'd like to speak with my mom.
Can you arrange that?
It only took seconds
for her skin to cool.
I'd never been more angry at God
or myself.
Now, her ashes are in the ground --
a personality that filled up the house
tucked away inside a child-sized body,
burned to nothing but dust.
Dust & memories.
That is all.
That, and a broken daughter
crying to an empty room,
face bent up to a silent ceiling,
yearning to hear her mother say
just one more time
Goodbye,
I'll see you tomorrow.
Hello, allow me to introduce myself:
I am a member of the walking wounded.
We are the ghosts they left behind.
No one else will ever know
the parts of you and me
that died right along with them.
It no longer matters to us
if tomorrow comes at all, we insist.
(Nobody lives here anymore.)
...3
2...
...1
Beep
Fin
***
***
Beep
This is the simple, unexpected sound of a life ending.
Take heed.
It's always unexpected.
Year after year,
decade after decade --
365 days of tears, fears,
and joy --
"I'll see you tomorrow" tossed over one's shoulder with ease,
all concluding empty-handed with a single note
and the quick shuffle of feet.
She's not going anywhere...what's the rush?
Cords are being removed;
a new bed is already being prepared.
(There's always a tomorrow
until there's not)
I remember my sister in hysterics,
being pulled away in slow-motion.
I remember the window to my right
& the distant street below -- quiet,
unbidden images of walking in front of the first car I saw.
Everything ending,
crashing into pieces;
wishes that never came true
now never could.
I remember watching her steadily fading heartbeat on the machine,
helpless --
hollow numbers dropping
down, down, down.
97...
...75
54...
...56? Wait...
47, no...
...16
4...
I remember being surprised
by the actual sight of blue skin.
It happened so fast. I barely had time to think.
After hours of standing & waiting & hoping, my mother was
unplugged like a lamp,
and it all came down
to a matter of perfunctory minutes.
Like it meant nothing.
Like we meant nothing.
Would you like to speak with a pastor?
No, asshole,
I'd like to speak with my mom.
Can you arrange that?
It only took seconds
for her skin to cool.
I'd never been more angry at God
or myself.
Now, her ashes are in the ground --
a personality that filled up the house
tucked away inside a child-sized body,
burned to nothing but dust.
Dust & memories.
That is all.
That, and a broken daughter
crying to an empty room,
face bent up to a silent ceiling,
yearning to hear her mother say
just one more time
Goodbye,
I'll see you tomorrow.
Hello, allow me to introduce myself:
I am a member of the walking wounded.
We are the ghosts they left behind.
No one else will ever know
the parts of you and me
that died right along with them.
It no longer matters to us
if tomorrow comes at all, we insist.
(Nobody lives here anymore.)
...3
2...
...1
Beep
Fin
***