Assignments, prompts and general musings
Blog
In this post, I will take the general structure of my This I Wonder essay and attempt to transform it into a found poem - a technique that will change spacing and the general flow of my prose into a new creation altogether.
The gas stove clicks on My cigarette is lit Confusion runs all about She enters quietly She looks lost I am too Smoke is exhaled Words do not come The room is now empty Towers of boxes stand, quietly Dreams are being dashed Still the words do not come A chapter ends now A tale never written Remembered by history for the taste of blood Time moves forward Lives are changed Suddenly, clarity creates happiness
1 Comment
I turn the gas stove on and listen to its sleepy, defiant click as I lower my head towards the blue flame, a cigarette in my mouth. Instinctively, I reach to quickly pull my hair back – it’s getting much too long, she always told me – and tuck it behind my ears, safe from the flame’s entrancing dance. As I stand upright an inhale I am greeted with clarity for the first time in weeks. That clarity, however, is fleeting and turns to emptiness as I turn and lock eyes with her.
It’s late and her pale skin is near-translucent in our dimly lit apartment. She is stunning, almost ethereal in the evening. She stands before me, silent, but her eyes tell a sad story. I take a drag of my cigarette and want nothing more than to tell her that everything’s going to be alright. This dingy apartment, our life together, it’s all up from here. I want to make her feel safe when I myself feel nothing but fear and uncertainty. I will have to lie to her, but she will see through it. My eyes will betray me. My brain tells my body to move closer to her; that the words I stumble over in my head will come flowing out as I reach for her delicate arm. The moment I step, however, she is no longer there, rushing past me and fading into the other room as my cigarette’s smoke rises into nothingness. I follow her and am greeted by a home torn apart. Brown boxes have taken over the apartment, tokens of our life together packed away. There is nothing left but the barren wasteland of shattered hopes and broken promises. Feeling helpless, I reach for the keys in my pocket and fumble with them, hoping more than anything that these small pieces of metal will inspire something courageous from me. The words never come. She stands stock still, her small frame engulfed by the surrounding boxes and I swear, despite her tear-stained eyes, that she has never looked lovelier. “It doesn’t have to be the end of us,” I cough out as I exhale again, hoping my words will inspire some emotion from her. “I love you.” Gracefully, she steps towards me, quickly, assuredly. I watch, feeling like a bystander as her hand opens up and she whips it across my face. It stings in a way that I sometimes still feel, even four years later. “You’re the one who is leaving,” she reminds me before turning and entering our bedroom. I taste blood in my mouth and drag deeply on my cigarette. Silence permeates my world as I sit amid the boxes. Alone now, I retreat inside my mind and examine the facts. I look out the window and am greeted by stars and I cannot help but be lost in their feeble light. She was right; I am the one who is leaving, the one whose belongings are packed. The car out front is mine and the keys that I will use to start its engine in the early hours of the morning are mine as well. Dwelling on this, with my eyes fixed firmly on the stars visible through my window I take in the silence. In the morning I am leaving this life behind. The city, my friends, and my relationship will be left in the dust. As much as this pains me, much like the blood in my mouth, there is nothing left to be done about it. My mind has been made up and tomorrow everything changes. She still wants a reason, something logical and clandestine to explain my decision. In truth, I have none other than a sense of necessity. For as much good as my life has in it, it is still marred by failure. At twenty, I have no job, no education to speak of. My peers are moving on, destined for success in the vague reality that we refer to as the real world and they will all inevitably leave me behind. I know this to be true and I take one last drag of my cigarette. She will do the same too, whether she knows it or not. Rather than be left to deal with the fate I am being dealt – one of despair and inevitable loneliness, I decided to make a change. Something in my bones urged me to return to my home, to start anew before it is too late. It is scary and terrible, but it is the only option that makes sense after the thought enters my mind. With a resigned sigh, I lay about the floor, lost amid the boxes and wish that it will all make sense somehow. I close my eyes and pray that in the morning I will become a new man. In the darkness, I wonder if I am making the right decision. Each day my eyes open now and I remember the anxiety and pain I felt that last night. Four years have passed and each day feels better than the last. I brush the sleep out of my eyes and take in the day. The birds squawk and chirp loud enough to make their point clear – there will be no sleeping in this morning. I dress myself and move down the stairs, unsure of my footing and lost in my thoughts. The coffee pot is my goal, my mission, my savior. I prepare my cup and move cautiously onto the deck, balancing the cup as I reach for a cigarette. I light it. I inhale. I feel alive; slowly, yet quite surely. Four years have passed and so much has changed. I smile to myself as I drink. Each day feels better than the last. The turmoil and anguish of the past is gone and the only taste left in my mouth is the bitter, hot coffee. |