That's how long we were on the phone the other day,
when all of our previous conversations were terse
"Hi. Hi. How're you? Good. That's good. Here's mom."s.
When we'd only be sitting in the same room for five minutes
before something in the water would turn you into
a drill sargent, a terrorist barking complaints and insults
at all the hostages in the house.
I remember when you were born.
I have this picture of you at the age of five,
curled up in your baby blanket, asleep
in the back of dad's old car after he picked us up from school.
I have these memories of you at age twelve, acting like you were sixteen at least,
shooting up to six feet, shaving your head and never smiling.
You, me, and one of your friends getting drunk one day
and me trying to clean your puke off the bathroom floor
before mom got home, and you complaining
that I hadn't done a good enough job.
Me driving you to Wal Mart and buying the cigars
you won't be able to purchase for a few more years.
Me picking you up from the "bad kid's school"
where you'd have to spend a few days
after calling your gym teacher a faggot.
You and dad yelling at each other after
you called him the same thing, or wrecked something.
You saying you want to go into the army when you're older
and don't care if you die in combat.
You not even bothering to be home
on the day I left for Pittsburgh.
You never really wanting to talk to me afterwards.
Then I call home to talk about
coming home for spring break and my birthday
and a brief "How're you?" turns into
you talking about how much you hate
the meth-heads at your school
and how you hate the kids that start smoking when they're young
and how you and dad listen to Johnny Cash while playing pool
and how you like the German class you're taking
and how my white cat always sleeps on your black bookbag.
It sounds like I'm talking to an older, wiser, twentysomething 15 year-old
and I feel like I've aged a year
after talking for an hour and a half.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I seriously think I've read this before - but if I had why didn't I comment?
I love this for the anecdote, and change in every character.
=> Jess
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This is truly great, the style plunges the reader right into your world with vivid images and heavy emotions. Bravo.
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I already told you how much I love this, but I felt like I should leave a comment anyway.
This is some awesome writing, Larah. It's bittersweet and heartfelt- it's the kind of poem you read and know that the writer really meant what she was saying.
I love lines 5-7 in particular. They're quite witty.
I did think of one suggestion. I know, I know, I said I couldn't think of anything the other day, but I just thought I'd mention what I saw now in case you're still looking for some constructive criticism or what-have-you. Anyway, I was thinking that the first stanza could possibly be broken up into a few smaller stanzas. It looks kind of long, and there are a few spots where your focus changes enough that you could possibly create a new stanza (for example, when you go from the terrorist comparison to the day he was born). Don't take me too seriously- for all I know, you kept it all in one stanza for a very good reason that I just didn't notice. I just thought I'd mention that one thing. But don't get me wrong, I think it's a great poem as is.
For someone who doesn't consider poetry her "thing", you sure can write a poem. Hehe. Nicely done, dahhling.
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