I held her there. I said, This is my daughter. I called her by my name, because it was her name, too.
Everyone asked me if it was like an “Arkansas thing,” where I got knocked up by someone who is also questionably related to me, and I told them No, because I don’t remember ever getting knocked up at all. But here I have this child.
And she’s beautiful. And I love holding her and the weight of her little butt resting on my forearm. And she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Her eyes are plaintive and wet and distant like marble.
And I love her, and only her.
That’s what I said, all of that.
I more than willingly took all those sideways glances delivered by my favorite father and my least favorite not-mother and the only brother I look up to, even when his sad eyes unknowingly accused me.
I received many requests from a boyfriend to call the child his own.
I repeatedly informed him that the child was not a result of unfamiliar relations.
I continued to receive incredulity from his end, and more requests to call the child his own. I understood: the child is beautiful; if she weren’t mine I would want to call her mine anyway.
The child did seem to need a father. She did things that she knew she would get in trouble for: not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to see whether I would discipline her with my hands, not just with angry eyes and a strong tone.
The child is my epicenter.
I declined the boyfriend’s request to call the child his own. The child is not your own. I said that.
He said, “But she needs a father. Look at her throwing everything in her milieu. She’s tired of throwing things.”
Then I said: Then she’ll become a great athlete, and her training will begin now.
Then he: “If you don’t let me claim her, I’ll discipline her anyway.”
Then he deserted that idea, and later deserted me.
The child continued to be beautiful, and smiled all the time.
I made popping noises with my mouth, and she laughed and laughed and laughed. That’s what I did, and that’s all it took.
I spoke with my favorite father again, and he loved my child. Who couldn’t? She was beautiful. Beautiful temperament. Beautiful eyes.
Beautiful.
Then she was gone one day. We all cried, and our tears melted the years away until we were left with no tears and no memories.
Why did you leave me? Your eyes were so distant, I should have known you meant to join them, however far away they were.
Author notes
Had a dream once that I had a baby girl who disappeared without dying. Found out two weeks later I'm pregnant. It's a boy.
Attempt at post-modernism.
A contest entry
- For The Poets Who Write Prose by Stars of Hope.
450 points, ended September 10, 2007, 9 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - [[ Prose♥ ]] You are not the reason; by Gl-ass.
1400 points, ended October 11, 2007, 27 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Nothing Boring by cali951.
500 points, ended December 3, 2007, 104 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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wow I really loved this. it was so believable and beautiful.
effective vocabulary and truly it's great.
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Oh. This is quite some poem that you have here. I thought this seemed really strange and kind of like a ghostly thing or something like that, while I was reading it. I was wondering why it jumped around and then I saw that it was a dream and I was like 'Oh! That makes sense now!' lol I thought it was interesting but also kind of weird. I thought you did a good job of expressing yourself.
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This was an amazeing story. I like how you related this to your dream. Congradulations on your good news of a new baby. Keep up the great work.
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I agree with Pixielated, I wasn't sure in the beginning I would like it. But it does have a part to it that draws you in.
Keep it up!
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At first I wasn't sure I would like it, but as I read on the story drew me in, and by the end I felt sad too. I think it does have a very "post-modernism" feel to it.
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Her eyes are plaintive and wet and distant like marble
The child did seem to need a father. She did things that she knew she would get in trouble for: not because she wanted to, but because she wanted to see whether I would discipline her with my hands, not just with angry eyes and a strong tone.
I made popping noises with my mouth, and she laughed and laughed and laughed. That’s what I did, and that’s all it took.
Beautiful.
Amazing.
Great prose.
and repetition.
goodluck and thank you.
Kat
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Beautiful story! I love how the boyfriend is wanting to call the baby his own, but you won't let him. The fact that this baby is so beautiful that a man would want to call her his own is really beautiful! The last line I don't know if it is to be interpreted this way but this is how I read "I should have known you meant to join them" This baby was so beautiful that she was taken from such a terrible place on earth and was sent to heaven to become and angel. Really outstanding! Good Luck!
Luv ya oodles!
Courtney
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wow that is so trippy...
i cant really gather my thoughts after reading this; it was very unlike alot of prose i write. it has a sharp reality and at the time it held definate areas of truth & great images. good luck in this contest
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