brigit's flame - february: week 4, "it's okay"
A chance for some prosetry? Yes please! :D
Constructive criticism is encouraged.
Enjoy!
Siren Calling
You cannot find the glass mother left, packed with words that would sooner teeter off a cliff’s edge than remain on the counter where you left them. It doesn’t help that you misplace things. Close your eyes. Imagine the swashing of froth on rock. Like petrichor, the smell precedes the sight.
Use grandmother’s trick and count to calm. Whisper a prayer to Saint Anthony for the return of lost things. Start with a sock the dryer ate then move toward the more pressing. Like the netting that once patched your heart, catching leaks before they spilled. It’s gone now. Pitched wind howls through the cracks, hollow as an overturned bell of folded brass. No one strikes you enough to sing.
Nettles sting but stop and refuse to think. Engaging in repetition is a record skipping, always arriving to that same dark groove.
[Really, who would cast blame if you dropped into the sea? By all means, don’t be careless. Skip from rock to ocean. If asked, say you slipped. Then slide, ever cautious, until the water licks ankles, shoulders, hips. Draw a breath before you sink.]
It is unlike bailing water from a ship. Not all things may be saved and remain the same. But shift the view. Tilt your head when feet touch sand. The sky is fluid as water weaving, an elusive truth you did not know until this moment, here and now. Perspective is a glory unsung. Proper that you should chance drowning to glimpse clarity (you were always hopeful, you). Now force yourself to do the unthinkable. Fight the fear and skill of survival by breathing deep.
Water does not choke or bind as will alone pushes back the swell. Your aquatic adaption is quicker than most. That one should plummet deep to relish the feel of lightness, of feather tethered limbs rolling slow with coasting current, queerer still.
Alright dear, keep those eyes trained wide. Trace reflections of the sun. Always up, refracting as gas in the atmosphere or curved slivers caught in water’s web. Revel in knowing you are tangled but warm.
No matter the location, be assured gravity’s law is eternal. These are constants. This too will subside. Begin, kick for the surface. Claim the search. Discover your rightful place.
It’s time.
Constructive criticism is encouraged.
Enjoy!
Siren Calling
You cannot find the glass mother left, packed with words that would sooner teeter off a cliff’s edge than remain on the counter where you left them. It doesn’t help that you misplace things. Close your eyes. Imagine the swashing of froth on rock. Like petrichor, the smell precedes the sight.
Use grandmother’s trick and count to calm. Whisper a prayer to Saint Anthony for the return of lost things. Start with a sock the dryer ate then move toward the more pressing. Like the netting that once patched your heart, catching leaks before they spilled. It’s gone now. Pitched wind howls through the cracks, hollow as an overturned bell of folded brass. No one strikes you enough to sing.
Nettles sting but stop and refuse to think. Engaging in repetition is a record skipping, always arriving to that same dark groove.
[Really, who would cast blame if you dropped into the sea? By all means, don’t be careless. Skip from rock to ocean. If asked, say you slipped. Then slide, ever cautious, until the water licks ankles, shoulders, hips. Draw a breath before you sink.]
It is unlike bailing water from a ship. Not all things may be saved and remain the same. But shift the view. Tilt your head when feet touch sand. The sky is fluid as water weaving, an elusive truth you did not know until this moment, here and now. Perspective is a glory unsung. Proper that you should chance drowning to glimpse clarity (you were always hopeful, you). Now force yourself to do the unthinkable. Fight the fear and skill of survival by breathing deep.
Water does not choke or bind as will alone pushes back the swell. Your aquatic adaption is quicker than most. That one should plummet deep to relish the feel of lightness, of feather tethered limbs rolling slow with coasting current, queerer still.
Alright dear, keep those eyes trained wide. Trace reflections of the sun. Always up, refracting as gas in the atmosphere or curved slivers caught in water’s web. Revel in knowing you are tangled but warm.
No matter the location, be assured gravity’s law is eternal. These are constants. This too will subside. Begin, kick for the surface. Claim the search. Discover your rightful place.
It’s time.