I came here that year with you, to this room with a view.
We hung as ghosts in the window, faces pale with aborted dreams, and a dozen artists in the corridor turned to us as lights. He painted me on the shore, still and sleeping with seashells in my hair and torn fishnets holding me fast to the ground,
A mermaid drowning, while immaculate hands shaped the sky above- a blue silk dress dipped aging with salt and water.
She could've smiled, full of teeth and empty grins but the line was already drawn (here, he said, do not come over here.) And it was too late. He stood a him-shaped hole in the atmosphere, bleeding sunlight and stars into the water lapping gently at her curled hands - two fleshy spiders that threatened to eat him up, leaving behind only space and galaxies too large to swallow.
Us, children of the midnight sun. The earth beneath them was soft, and circular, the sun drew rings around our heads, over and over and over, and I wanted to ask,
what for?
who are you waiting for?
but it was futile. Without darkness, we had no dreams and I couldn't think; I couldn't speak with these dried corn-husk lips that only grew drier with each revolution of the sun ( the beat was 99 revolutions per minute, 56 minutes per hour in a place where hours were counted at 23 and we wind watches backwards in our attempts to take back what was lost)
but she's gone, I tell you, GONE. she's never coming back again.
He doesn't believe me with his tobacco stained hands and heaving lungs. ( and darling, we can finally breathe again when we die, and insects open us up for the world to see)
That boy, he never believes me.
.
.
.
" I need you like I need a hole in my head"
Guess it's pretty serious then, she coyly laughed.
I found her in a boudoir slash renovated tea-room with green scarves across the windows and rickety tables spilled like harvest moons between the patrons. I knew then why he wouldn't believe me, when I saw her and she smiled that smile at me (the one with too many teeth and too much white like a shark waiting for me to bleed).
And the darkness hung around her eyes, purple shadows of sleepless nights spent dreaming (it was over before it even began); him, with his sun, always that damn sunlight, we couldn't get away from it, and then there she was with her shadows and vogue ribcage like she didn't even care.
But I told her about him anyways, his crackly lungs that you could hear when he tried to breathe but only inhaled death; his hair bleached silver and white as the reflections off the water, where darkness never touched him; and I told her about his hands that held the sky.
He's waiting for you.
But she didn't come back this year.
.
.
.
I took him to the room with the view, where she died, and I watched his hands pushing against the air as if he pushed hard enough, he could go through to her. I wanted to tell him that it didn't matter anyways because it was the darkness that had taken her, the darkness and those dreams, but I already know he wouldn't believe me.
When he sees her, she's still seven years ago with a halo of light like mountain snow. She doesn't have those scars yet. And he just stares, looking and looking but she's not there, don't you understand? SHE'S GONE.
But the view was the same today, and I don't think I'll take him here again.
Author notes
When he's with me, he stares off into nothingness, and he's not really with me at all. And I'm trying, I really am, but it's this case of too little too late. It's over.
In a list
A contest entry
- The Sky is Alive by sweetpearl.
2975 points, ended July 29, 2007, 26 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Ditto for the rest of the comments. This is profoundly intense and amazing.
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Why aren't you on my favorites?!?!?
I don't think there is anything I could say that Laura hasn't.
Damn.
I've been missing out.
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More applause needed, ding ding.
Firstly I have to state something ... WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH YOU PEOPLE? There are 20 views on this piece (possibly three from me) and not a single comment. SHAME ON YOU ALL. If you're going to click, fucking read and comment. It makes me angry that superb writers get ripped by you non-commenters.
ANYWAY.
Have I told you lately that I love you? Because I do. Your writing is always so ... filling. It's as if you cannot be dull. You are a master at prose and a master with words and you know how to get people to relate to your situation no matter what.
"I came here that year with you, to this room with a view."
--superb opening line that pulls you in, also foreshadowing, which is fucking cool since nobody does that anymore.
"We hung as ghosts in the window... - ...torn fishnets holding me fast to the ground,"
--holy fuck I adore that first line like ... damn, no other. Maybe you're just randomly coming up with this or MAYBE you knew what I was looking for? Are you stalking me? HAH, I wish. This is probably my favourite stanza in the entire piece. It's wording is exquisite and you're wonderful. You make it all seem so poetic ... the story that is.
"A mermaid drowning... - ...aging with salt and water."
--fuck you're just amazing with words and imagery, aren't you? You little fiery talent you.
"She could've smiled, full of teeth... - ...galaxies too large to swallow."
--that first line sticks to me. I think I'm attracted to the "could have" part ... I mean, it wasn't that she did, she COULD HAVE. Sorry, I know that's stating the obvious. "Him-shaped hole" ... wtf woman, you're too damn creative and unique. Also, "two fleshy spiders" I mean ... I don't even know what to say anymore, you're too good and take my breath away. How dare you!
"Us, children of the midnight sun... - ...who are you waiting for?"
--gah, *cries* seriously, what do I say here? "Children..." can you get anymore ... cool? Well, you probably could because you're awesome like that. You have to wonder what people are waiting for when you're standing right in front of them. I asked mself that with the last guy ... he was looking for someone and I'm thinking "I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?" and he knew how much I fucking cared about him. I guess I'm just never good enough, fuckers.
"but it was futile... - ...I tell you, GONE. she's never coming back again."
--you craft your pieces like an artist paints his masterpiece. Careful choosing like the careful strokes of the brush. You see things different then everyone else and you make me open my eyes to new ideas, thoughts, and you let me taste a tiny freckle of your mind. I like the last line here, it feels very emphasized. You can scream as loud as you can ... some people you just can't get through to. I think you know that.
"He doesn't believe me... - ...That boy, he never believes me."
--"heaving lungs" I love. Originality? "Insects..." line ... that is what fucking originality is. You really get to me in your writing, you make me sense things.
""I need you... - ...she coyly laughed."
--love the first line, that's all I can say.
"I found her in a boudoir slash... - ...and too much white like a shark waiting for me to bleed)."
--this speaks like a novel. You write so delicately and finely. Perfection, people, take note. You can write descriptively without getting boring or too full of bull - this is it! The bracketed part at the end is my favourite, love the shark simile. Makes me want to sink my teeth into flesh.
"And the darkness hung... - ...vogue ribcage like she didn't even care."
--wonderful phrasing. You always sound so real, that's what I love. The reality aspect of your writing but still being poetic and at times abstract. Not sure how you manage that!
"But I told her about him anyways... - ...But she didn't come back this year."
--this reminds me of those people who really don't let go and it kills them. I know it kills me. I need to learn to let go. I love how you keep your theme but also the comparisons to it, the sky, the darkness, etc. You never veer off track, you dedicated focused little writer you! Yeah, I said something like that earlier I think. This comment is getting long, I forget the beginning.
"I took him to the room with the view... - ...but I already know he wouldn't believe me."
--I love how you start wrapping it up but it isn't the ending yet. This way it doesn't end abruptly or leave the reader with a confused look or puzzled feeling. I adore the idea of how he thinks he can reach her even though she's gone. The whole darkness part wrapped itself inside me, those few lines about it are my second favourite part of this piece.
"When he sees her... - ...and I don't think I'll take him here again."
--Love the assonance between ago and snow. Also, that line itself is astonishing. I am getting frustrated because I can't put how much I love this piece into words. Can you tell I love it? If not, I'll try harder.
Publish yourself already so I can add your book to my shelf.
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