Tragedy

[three different poems with a central theme]

I. Some days you feel like the world is turning for you. Like life has been orchestrated to do no other but make you happy. Other days you sense that the band playing your rhythm has fallen hopelessly out of tune. Life becomes shaky and unsure and you can’t help but feel that if the drummer had been just a little more on beat- you would be blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had just occurred. But the drummer was off and that’s that and now the backdrop on the stage of your world has fallen into disrepair. You’re not quite sure if you’ll ever be able to build back up. Because even if you do, there will always be some tiny imperfection or the presence of discord reminding you of what happened.

II. He stood unmoving, as he often did when awful filled him. He didn’t know what to do, so he just stood

stagnant. After a while, just as water when too still for too long, he began to feel foul, realization infiltrating him- a pollution that overtook his body.

Vomit and wipe his mouth on his sleeve,

Time

passed, as he tried to decide what to do with this thing that was making his heart twist in ways it shouldn't.

He needed to

put the phone back on the receiver because the empty line was making his head hurt and then he would

Not cry.

III. She let the tears stream down her face and did not think

about it. She tried not to let the crack at her throat let all the fear down into her chest.

The fear that it was true, because it wasn’t and couldn’t be and the faceless handwriting on the page was lying.

If she just cried, maybe the sorrow making her body numb would run its course.

Crumple to the floor, shaking with sobs and grief and refusal she just cried and pretended she was invisible and nothing had ever happened.

Because it couldn’t be true. And telling herself it wasn’t true made it better.

Then she didn’t want to feel like that anymore

So the door slammed behind her and she began walking. Even when it got dark, and the trees got thicker.

She broke

into a run.

Hades Lust

[a poem in the form of prose inspired by a myth of legend]

And when he heard her name, he whispered it to himself.

Persephone.

And when he tried it again, Persephone, he carefully attempted to the make the sounds fit in his throat just right so that the corners of her name exited perfectly from his lips, just as she deserved.

Persephone.

He loved the way it sounded… like how peppermints taste: sweetly lingering in one’s mouth.

And when he saw her, a tactic began to form in his mind. And as it grew, so did his lust. And in turn with his lust grew sureness that he must have her. Hold her. Love her.

And all these things grew, in much the same fashion that excitement grows in the heart, traveling into the stomach and twisting that around and then moving into the fingertips making them tap and fiddle with everything around them. It grew until he was only a jittering anticipation. And as these sentiments accumulated, his brow began to glister with just the tiniest bit of sweat and his hands became the slightest bit wet as well. But it was not because he was fearful or nervous. Because he wasn’t as he would fiercely claim if you asked. He was just unable to wait.

So he didn’t. And without the slightest knowledge of him, Persephone was whisked away. Stolen. The flowers that had been nestled in the corner of her arm were strewn about, and the daisy waiting next to be picked, stood tall and wondered why it was still rooted to the ground.

Persephone screamed.

Summer at Brown

So, then my mom was kissing me good-bye and telling me I'd be just fine but I'm pretty sure it was herself she was trying to convince. Then I got on a plane and 6 hours later I was in Boston taking a bus to Providence, Rhode Island and then blinking in the bright sunlight of Kennedy square and tripping my way into the beautiful campus of Brown University. And as my dad said, I was done with the most difficult part- not getting really lost, which was, in itself a small miracle.

Experimental writing is the name of the program I'm taking here at Brown as college prep course. I'm loving it! What started as a 'immabesicktomystomach' nerve racking class has turned into something I can't wait to get to each day. Between my wonderful professor and the great, intelligent girls I collab with, I've already learned so much. And when I'm not in class, life is great too. Class only goes from 3:50 to 6:40 but between the gym, meals, assignments and eating frozen yogurt theres no time at all! Still I love it, and this wonderful group of people I've met, have me laughing every second.

ANYWAY back to my class, Rebecca Van Laer, my professor, has to have some kind of magic because she make us read of book made up of poems yesterday (Beauty of the Husband if any of you care to look it up) and I actually liked it! AH, Whats happening to me!? I never thought I would like any of this but here I am spending lunch hour in the dorm room writing poetry.

I'm just kidding- there is no "lunch hour" and all who know me know that even if there was, I wouldn't miss it. But what I'm not kidding about is the poetry thing. cause for the first time in years and years of classes, it's actually making sense, to read and to write.

SO I thought I'd share the assginments I have each day and what I come up with in my response. Soon well switch other types of writing, but anything were doing, I'm excited for.

And thats just me, experiencing new things everyday currently across the country on our spinning world:)