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.â€
we are now officially experiencing a comment drought here at H & H. What’s up?
good question. it tends to get quiet around here during the holidays.
i like this one sarah.
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.
insert the word “put” after “stay” in the last stanza.
I really like the episodic take on the rerun’s that stream through lives.
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!