Sitting on this deck, wrapped up in an acrylic afghan,
I watch distant thin whitecaps appear, disappear, reappear,
out there, on the endless bay, where pelicans and
Cormorants gulp perch while I sit as still as stone,
the breeze harsh, sensual, intrusive,
seeking my skin through loosely knit square holes of
cotton candy pink, chartreuse, brandy tan, orange and
taffy yellow, fuzzy fibers teasing me with bits of warmth broken up
by a network of access for cold, an entrance for abrasive life,
carelessly laughing at my sensitivity, sending me
cringing quietly, struggling to shrink myself into a
tight ball, my shoulders never comforted, feeling
horribly exposed, bothered, bullied, as my ears
understand their punishment at possessing no muscle
control, forced to remain open, hearing every chipmunk
chatter, each Jackal cackle at the whining shrieking
seagulls, those wretched spoiled sickly
seagulls who complain to the entire world they never
get enough, yet my stomach folds itself, giving up
on appetite since my mouth dried into a cavern of sand
and salt, teeth hanging like stalactites, chiseled by
the wind, slowly, steady as a torturous lover, that
wind, pushing my pores, pulling my nerve-endings,
sending a haunting howl into my head, my neck
twitches, jerking back and forth, pulling my strained
shoulders with every spasm, reacting to every split of
my eyelashes, every forceful caress of cool
lake-infected air, oh how it slithers under my knees
and in between my naked toes, flipping each leg hair
up on end, prickling my scalp, yet I cannot
run away, stuck into fetal position in a padded
plastic chair, staring at the water through my empty
glass on the mosquito-plastered table, wishing I were
numb again, hoping for my skin to freeze, praying for
that old unawareness, the blank colorless realm that
enveloped me so quickly, snuggled me into darkness,
protected me from emotion, coddled my emptiness,
sailing me far away from reality, the land of which
slammed me into furious loss and pain, so now that I
finally awake, I feel every sensation to such a raw
sensitivity I fear life again, feeling unprepared for
the song of the mourning dove, flavors touching my
tongue, eyes filled with questions and concern connecting with
my new bitter glare, their expectation of me to speak, to
love, when all I truly ask of the world this very moment is complete silence.
rate
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 28
William, welcome! Doesn't this feel weird, praising comment on a depressing piece?
Craig, you are so welcome, and thank you for the praise.
Susan and Charlotte- you are always cheering me on. Thank you so much.
Again, does anyone see the irony in "enjoyed the journey,"? YET I am so flattered!
:)
Your talent intimidates me (bowing in front of you).
I read your work looking up to you.
Many excellent lines here, including:
each Jackal cackle at the whining shrieking
seagulls, those wretched spoiled sickly
seagulls
and
every forceful caress of cool
lake-infected air, oh how it slithers under my knees
and in between my naked toes
and the last line is awesome, a great summation to this extended exhibit and plea.
A couple things I would point out by way of consideration for you.
In line 4 - Cormorants gulp perch while I sit as still as stone - you might consider removing the first iteration of "as."
Here - bits of warmth broken up
by a network of access for cold - I love the bits of warmth, but the next seems awkward. Perhaps something like, bits or warmth, isolated / by doors open wide to the cold.
understand their punishment at possessing no muscle
Should this be "for possessing," or "is possessing?"
This was a different style from you in your short tenure here at Gather, and you've succeeded quite well.
Smile.
The Clown !- Thank you for reading this out loud! I find myself saying over and over that all writers need to read their works out loud. I am honored you read my work out loud.
Maureen, nice to meet you, and thank you for your applause.
I can't really buy into it as a whole, though, unless I think OCD (not just depression) with a passage like
seeking my skin through loosely knit square holes of
cotton candy pink, chartreuse, brandy tan, orange and
taffy yellow, fuzzy fibers teasing me with bits of warmth broken up
by a network of access for cold, an entrance for abrasive life,
carelessly laughing at my sensitivity, sending me...
Even with the idea of compulsive sensitivity, I think you could gain power from a certain amount of pruning (like "carelessly" in the line above).
Thank you.
---
Looking for humour? Crime fiction? Opinions? Poetry? It's all there at Ylanne Sorrows's namespace. http://trealistorm.gather.com
John, You are not getting soft on me now, are you?
:)
Thank you very much.
I didn't see this as strictly a depression piece. Rather I saw it as a turning-point piece. Even with the mosquito plastered table and the cold, autumn-like feel of the lake infected air, and the wretched feeling of your body. There are still hints that this depression may be nearing it's end. You desire silence, not death. You recognize the colors surrounding you (not everything is in shades of black, gray and white), and you are "unprepared for the song of the mourning dove, flavors touching my tongue, eyes filled with questions and concern...." I may be reading something into this that isn't there and it may be my natural tendency to read something from an angle other than straight on, but it's as if you (the character/person within this moment) is starting to recognize the colors and to cormorants and the repetitive waves and the realization that outside of this desire to feel nothing there is the reality that there is much to feel and even though you want silence, you can't help but recognize and feel them.
Wow.
That is exactly why I titled "before healing".
I want the reader to know that healing is on the way, but it wasn't an easy, simple sudden, peaceful experience.
The clashing audacious colors of the afghan are purposefully loud and obnoxious, sickening. You think I found that comforting?
I meant the words "sensual" and "intrusive" to be judgmental words, thought I understand what you are getting at. Its funny, I am thrilled and annoyed that for the first time someone thought I wasn't showing and was merely telling. I understand much of what you explain and will think about it another day.