Episodes, 18 and 27

Episodes, 18 and 27
by sarah endsley
That night in New York, he had thrown matches from the rooftops, while I awkwardly groped for his hands,
Whose wallet
His wallet
Blocking all the light in the doorway
The carpet dark with light spots, two beds, a nightstand in-between
The blood was on the left.
On the left, left behind where I was lying
Honestly, don’t remember what I was thinking
Those seconds I was unconscious
After I grabbed him, his white-and-red-striped shirtsleeve
Wanting that wallet
Matches thrown in the air, hours before
Second before, seconds after
My head slammed into the frame of the cracked white door
Just one elbow back
And then the blood, and the cab, and the explanation
And the cracked white scar on my hairline.
Contrasted with
That warm, gentle evening in California
I turned blue on the cement,
And he breathed life into my mouth until they arrived
When I woke up,
I murmured–
“I did this to myself,” and
“I was angry at you, Daddy.”

0 thoughts on “Episodes, 18 and 27

  1. A Lame Rebound
    a comic cosmic chiasmus
    of red and white
    strike anywhere matches
    made in heaven
    to reignite the pilot light.
    should the stars go out
    at night to see
    their own silent pictures
    to flicker reflected
    on the pane,
    a moment held basking
    on that triple feature
    big silver screen
    three stories espousing romance
    before collasping supernova
    like a jamb slammed shut
    on a little finger
    falling for the pavement
    flipping off the world’s
    wall switch in a snap.
    Just like God, when
    the proverbial door opens,
    He raises a window
    to shuffle you out,
    stows your pantyhose
    under the bed
    you were supposed to stay
    until the wife went out.

  2. Reading this i feel like i’m a part of the moment. Time burns like a match from one end to another with the in-between blazing furious and fast so that we sorta remember the beginning and the end the most–that first ignition to that last little fizzle (episode 18 and 27).
    Do our conflicts mean something (deeper)…like a ‘working out’ of our inner demons for temporary release of frustrations. Or do the frustrations and anxiety represent a building up of living with miswired conceptions that weren’t our faults. Do our sporadic bonfires rage a conflagration within our spirits hearkening us to the still waters–not of death, but of truly living?
    These are some things that i subjectively think about while reading this excellent piece. Favorite touch: “The carpet dark with light spots…” thx. for sharing! P.S. cure rocks!

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