Deep in the WoodIt started as a curiosity. In her free time she would wander the edge of the wood, picking out the plant life she knew and guessing at the ones she didn't, naming them "star flower" and "shade bristle." She would come out of each encounter feeling refreshed and feeling her knowledge and being flowing through her more easily and more orderly. She could taste her self on her tongue and it made her want to see more.
In time she began exploring the wood in her mind while she was supposed to be doing other things. She would sit in the middle of a lecture and wander through the trees, marveling at the green-tinted shadows and the yellow patches of sunlight. She would lay for hours on patches of grass while her hair turned golden yellow and warm breezes washed over her skin, making the leaves dance in rhythm with the shadows, and abruptly come back into the dullness of the indoors at a cough or a rustle in the room around her.
November AutumnNovember days advance toward the snows
toward my relief
at its lazy pace.
Chilled was my breath at the height of the sun
barren and gray were the forests where I lived.
The first snow
wet and unsure
clung softly to raised blades of grass
frosting and crispening the world.
Here the fall blends more easily to winter.
Colors yet cling to the eaves
the ground underfoot not yet brown and cold.
Drying flowers hang in doorways
warm rose and green
against the chill panes of glass.
Sunlight glows like candle light
through close laid trees
in the softened mornings.
The air smells of summer skies
whispering through its memory still.
forsaken of snow
winter cannot hold yet
chill and gray and warm.
Pirate Brain SmoothiesI walk into the library following someone from my class. Please please please don't let him be taking out the folder of readings. I'm thinking maybe I could work on my Brit lit paper instead… but no matter, he veers to the right and I go to the check out desk on the left. I ask for the reserved readings and as the guy types information from my school ID into the computer he tells me he has pictures of me.
"Yeah two days before Halloween I came running out of Eisenhart and asked to take your picture."
"Oh! That was you?"
I was dressed as a pirate, and he as a dead, bloody something or other. He mumbles something about me thinking it was weird, but he's using his library voice and I'm wondering what the tell tale signs of a stalker are so I don't answer.
I sit in a chair by the window and open up to "Postmodernism is not what you think." It references Madonna and Michael Jackson and it sounds like it's written for high-schoolers. It's easier to follow than the others, but I feel
SeptemberIt used to be that I would sit alone
The world locked outside my door
along with the sunlight and the dawn.
I drank in my loneliness like a wine
drowning in its bitter taste
drawing it into my lungs where it carried to every limb like oxygen.
I could feel sadness coursing through my veins like it was life
and I was glad
And I didn't want friends until the day I met some
and I didn't want happiness until the day I realized had it
and I didn't need to be around people until the day I was
This time it's not a choice
and I'm trying
How do you leave sadness when it's all you've ever known
and how do you leave happiness once you've found it?
But somehow I always end up in the night
locked and alone
avoiding eye contact
because my hair is wrong one day
my outfit is wrong the next
and I go back
pulled into the darkness and silence
running on the edge of a shadow
trying not to get lost inside again
this time I may not be able to ge
Red Rose Tea BagsThere was a girl who collected statuettes from Red Rose tea bag boxes. In every box there was a different animal. She waited anxiously for her father to empty the box so that a new one could be opened. It was a long process. Her father only used one tea bag a day, and there were 30 in every box. This meant it usually took about a month to open a new box.
The girl had Red Rose tea bag statuettes of every kind imaginable. She had zebras and orangutans, hippos, giraffes, marmosets, and four camels. She kept them lined up on her bookshelf in neat little rows, so that they looked like an army of little statuettes. They made it hard for her to get to the books behind them. When she wanted a book she had to carefully move the statuettes out of the way, and then replace them again when she had the book.
The statuettes were beginning to pile up. She had so many, and even duplicates of some (like the camels), that it was becoming quite difficult to get any books off the shelf at all. Instead of
MemoryThere is a twilight
falling on spritely woods
as dust motes dance in the last rays of the sun.
In the deepening blue
the nightingale begins to sing
carrying sorrow over lush green
and lastly glittering stream.
In silence she comes on a dark horse
cushion of grass softening clop of small hooves.
Gauzy white flows from her shoulders
curls cascade, framing fair, sorrowed face
while fireflies illuminate her pale skin.
Barefooted she slips from stallion's back,
alighting in a clearing,
following sprites through misted air
as the moon rises bright,
dimming stars and casting cold light on the wood.
She walks letting grass cool her feet.
By the stream she pauses
then lays her head down to watch the humble water flow away
in a daze and bliss of sorrow.
She matches her voice to the nightingale
pointing chin to the sky
watching moonlight as it casts pale light on fair skin
and the wood grows quiet at her melancholy word.
From the eaves rides a white horse
silver bridle luminous i
Wolf DepartsWolf, I say,
This is the end.
I've come to realize something
You are not real.
I am what I have always been
I am me
You are wolf
But we are not the same.
Come out of my head.
It is time for me to face the world alone.
(Wolf bows her head silently
And walks slowly away.)
It is time I returned to reality
But wolf is now out of sight
And I find myself alone.
The once friendly darkness turns hostile
Without wolf there to guide me through.
At the first sign of my fear
She is by my side,
And I bury my fingers in her fur.
the endI wasted time worrying about important things,
expecting the days to get longer forever
until they blended into one
and time never changed because the sun didn't set.
I wasted my days reveling alone in my laziness.
Accomplishing nothing except putting off worrying
until it was too late
and the sun was setting early in my north-west window
and the pages in my calendar were too few.
I wasted hours in silence
dulled and deluded
waiting for what was to come
planning ahead for important things that didn't matter
and I ignored the time until I had to check twice to be sure that the date was right
and I found that all the important things were done
and on that the sun is setting
as I run through the streets trying to steal back
the daylight that I ignored in my idiocy.