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The drilling
since I'm numbed is just vibrations in my brain. When the saw stops I ask the cliché; “There's still tooth there, right?” Dentist laughs; “Yup. We're just getting all the nooks and crannies.” She smiles in her mask. “Oh,” I said, “So my teeth are like English Muffins?” Hygienist nods wisely. “Never heard that one before.” New smiles all around!
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Sometimes I hear a click in my brain when I walk
not just hear it, I feel it, a click click ticking, like step click step click step click tick tick tick like there is a bomb in my brain. Like something inside me is counting down to an explosion. I clench my jaw I tip my head-- only temporary relief. I have not click put out the fuse click just silenced it click temporarily. Click click 'till I sit then silence then stand and walk and click! I cannot run away from this. I only hear it when I walk click take a step click tick like a dripping drain, leaking faucet, drip drip drip until my brain (click click) weeps and swells and cracks open like a smile, all jagged skull-bits and a blinking beeping click click still ticking down. I hear it click at the apex of every step sometimes click when I walk click always outside tick tick. It's been happening click more often click. I used click tick to be able to forget about it for years at a time but now it's click almost always with me tick every time I step outside click like a habit I don't recall picking up. I click click I don't just hear it I feel it click click tick inside me, feels like a sound, feels like record skip click click it doesn't hurt click no pain but fear. Like a tongue clucking click my clicking cranium shows me hollow inside. I cannot click retreat to gray-matter fortress of solitude it click follows me wherever I go click whenever I walk click tick no matter how hard I cover my ears and moan click click click tick the next step click. The air under my shoe click laughs at me tick there is a bomb inside my brain and knowing me click I must assume it's click a dirty one tick tick every step click every foot click every time click... maybe you should all stand back. Click tick. Come at me in click biohazard suits tick whiter than shame click come at me click with your Geiger counters click click click we have lots in click click common. A Survey
I. The Western States were surveyed together. O, those famous cowboy surveyors! Boys on horseback dragging chains along the ground. II. Metal chains expand and contract with temperature and sink in swamps and drag in rivers and rise on hills and fall in ditches. But homestead for 5 years. It's totally worth it. III. Links of 7.92 inches. 80 chains in a mile. Six miles squared make a township, based on the map's meridians. So you think you know where you live now? Try recalculating based on the curve of meridian lines as they approach the poles. I'm indecisive today (time spent with the tax code does that to me), so here's what I've got so far today:
Vignette 1: Kiss Taste Breathe out when you kiss me. I like the smell of you and the taste of you all at once. Vignette 2: Newton's Third Law Something is off today. Or it's a reaction to the weather; the opposite and equal payback of sundrunk spring afternoons taken out in sighs under these clouds. “chain-link fence” prompt: Hand clutched skin bending around metal wire twisted and hung each on the other as the hand curls, rubbing rust; spread shoulder-width apart from its partner with a person hanging off. Her nose presses through one inexact square. Cheeks and lips are split. Taking steps back she lets eyes go hazy, to try and see past this fence; try to make it disappear. Fill in her own gaps. Prompt: “what should the ultimate poem be like” The ultimate poem should make you groan. Should make you mmmmmoan with agreement and satisfaction of words rightly chosen. Should make your body feel sweaty and your head dense, clouded, wholly wandering in its words, floating immersed in its images. The ultimate poem should have style, emotion, and truth. The ultimate poem is one remembered a lifetime by its every reader. I think I found my voice tonight.
Kneeling in front of my glowing screens, shoring up my stomach with Smartfood and my brain with poetry somehow the words came out the way they were always supposed to. Something halfway between my radio voice and the throaty way I sound when I'm sick. I found my power tonight. A way to break from canned cadence, to never touch it again; my voice will not moan and sigh and whine high-pitched and keening like other girls. My voice breaking won't make your heart crack like other girls. My voice is low, and tonight I found myself pushing past that. I found myself owning my mellow, dusky tone. Here all words are in my range, they vibrate in my lungs and chest. Here I know I am centered in myself, here I embrace that just like everything else it is no different that I am different, that I must find my own way. But there's power in my growl and I will open it out wide, I will only grow bigger and bigger until I can move a mind, a face, a tear like they can. I will expand my voice to fit my soul, to fill every space between words with unanswered echo. Bloom my arms wide to embrace my truth; that I am husky like a man and I will use it to my advantage. I will grab hold of my birthright and pull until I am confident and LOUD, and you will remember me exploding into ascendency a voice to fill both this chamber and the ones in your heart. Someday I might even sing. Like clockwork,
the day is half gone; I have been sleeping, I have been writing, I have been watching this room flare and recede as sun gets partly clouded, then gives up and sinks. Tomorrow, we swear; we'll get up earlier and do our work, and call our mothers, and eat our vegetables. For today, a few short poems:
Dawn air creeps in softly and freshly through the window screen soothing everything it touches; the palate-cleansing sorbet of the scent world. It's the absence of all smell but freshness, of light, of promise-- especially when that promise is more sleep. When I flourish so does everything under my care; like boldness is a super-vitamin and unstoppable smiles radiate life bigger, metamorphose boundless and universal. Why do I procrastinate even annoyances that will lead to great things? I thought I'd already passed the marshmallow test of delayed gratification and patience; those who wait are rewarded with twice the return. (Now if only life were fair I could stop selling things.) Pea plants need water and sun
and they need to climb. Alas, I have no miniature trellis, no long matches, no stakes, no staves, and pencils are not tall enough. I have paintbrushes. So sweet snap peas grow up brushes to flower and bear, brushes that used to be the ones painting the flowers. What I learned from The Divine Comedy:
The entrance to hell is somewhere in the woods in Italy. It's possible to climb this earth, core to crust, in about twelve hours. New Zealand is actually Purgatory. And the people in the moon are just as happy as the people on Neptune. |
AuthorRachel Rosenberg; poetlawyer Archives
September 2017
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