concretekiss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
concretekiss) wrote2006-04-21 12:02 pm
concretekiss) wrote2006-04-21 12:02 pm
Entry tags:
fuck. i owe 7 more poems to catch up.
Past Lives
The thunder at 3am woke me & up from
a half-awake haze I heard the littlest one's voice
There is big growling outside. Yes
I told her, took her hand to my belly.
Of the things one never has to teach a kid
one is that the Floor Is Molten Lava,
as universal as eating crayons;
to be caught perched atop mama's
tiger-oak dresser or hurriedly
rehanging the drapes you tore down falling
an attempt to flatten yourself to the window
inching toward a strategically placed
footstool. I found mine adding the spin
of Hot Potato, but balanced onislands
pillows over liquid rock. One bad catch &
it's all over. No one taught me.
I never had to explain how to imagine myself out
of a rained-in apartment & into an adventure
Before I retired that night, I crouched
outside the door to my son's bedroom
to hear him sing along with the radio. His voice
was extravagant, florid. He was no longer
in his bed, waiting to fall asleep. He
was shaking a stadium. The crowd was roaring.
The thunder at 3am woke me & up from
a half-awake haze I heard the littlest one's voice
There is big growling outside. Yes
I told her, took her hand to my belly.
Of the things one never has to teach a kid
one is that the Floor Is Molten Lava,
as universal as eating crayons;
to be caught perched atop mama's
tiger-oak dresser or hurriedly
rehanging the drapes you tore down falling
an attempt to flatten yourself to the window
inching toward a strategically placed
footstool. I found mine adding the spin
of Hot Potato, but balanced on
pillows over liquid rock. One bad catch &
it's all over. No one taught me.
I never had to explain how to imagine myself out
of a rained-in apartment & into an adventure
Before I retired that night, I crouched
outside the door to my son's bedroom
to hear him sing along with the radio. His voice
was extravagant, florid. He was no longer
in his bed, waiting to fall asleep. He
was shaking a stadium. The crowd was roaring.
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When there's a thunderstorm at night up here it is terrifying. The thunder crackles with a lot more treble notes and the lightening is only briefly in front of it. The sound travels more quickly somehow, giving the impression of giants playing a basketball game back and forth down court. The wind rushes the Ponderosa trees in fits and starts sounding like a waterfall turning rapidly on and off. Then there is the rain itself sounding like someone dumping a load of gravel on the roof.
Nature's baby waking us up in the middle of the night, sometimes a nuisance, sometimes a point of reverence.
Pangea_Tongue Is Back
Put on John Sebastion's "Welcome Back!" (Welcome Back Kotter" and go say "hi".
remember how
this is a fascinating prompt for its self-analytical propensity