Hoodie And a Prom Dress

A song never to be set to music becasue there is no other to sing it.

"...[I know] I can never bring myself to ask you these questions out loud. This, though, is yours - if you should choose to read it." -from The Memory Church, by Tim Sebastian

Last night, I burned a thousand letters-
All written to you, though I didn't know it.
I'm not sure why I burned them-
Probably some romantic notion of you somehow inhaling the smoke-
Understanding the contents in the process.

The plan, though, backfired in a way-
I'm the one who coughed and choked on the words I've wanted to say-
The smell of crackling paper has seeped into my clothes-
While newsprint covers the inside of my sinuses
Lining itself around my head- settling in the very place it started-
Aching for a successful penultimate release.

For committing the thoughts to paper is not the final release-
Nor is showing them to you, really-
Unless I tell you they were all for you.

I've waited for this line between us to shift-
I've watched it thicken, impossibly thicken-
And then, stretch out, allowing me to pass-
Yet I dare not.

I've never had an inherent knowledge of timing-
Most of the time I wait too long after seeing the opportunity-
Prufrock at seventeen, fumbling with a cell phone.

I've already thrown myself against the line once-
Failing to get across.
I fear my second chance will be my last-
Leaving the line fortified and impenetrable-
With me outside.

Songs seemed to play slower-
Leaving spaces between the notes for me to slip in
And find you there, hiding all the while in the song-
Unnoticed by all.

I've taken faces, before - cut them out and pasted them on songs-
Made a plaster calf out of a person-
(Though it's usually I who comes down from Mount Sinai-
Smashing the whole thing to bits.)

I'll be honest - I didn't expect to find anyone there-
When I first slipped through- Going back and fourth, afraid to sojourn on.
Your presences surprised me- drawing me in-
Past the chunks of plaster, the scissors and glue-
Replacing cardboard cutouts with something real.

You wore a hoodie to prom - A rebel to the last.
Sacrificing tradition for comfort - Refusing to freeze in the night.
I found you all the more beautiful because of it.

I wasn't brave enough - not for a risk.
I knew I was unprepared for the climate outside-
Hoping to draw closer to you to avoid freezing.

I bowed - "Will you take this dance among the Dead?"
You frowned - I deepened my bow-
Hiding my outstretched hand with a flourish.

The room was filled with ticking clocks- with no one to wind them.
It is hard, though- to know a clock needs winding-
Before it ceases ticking.

We were there at the end-
Watching them dance at their final benediction.
"Lights out! Stand to serenade the Dead!"

That night will be the high-water mark for many of the people there-
(The final burst of light from a collapsing supernova - SN 2008A)
The plug is about to be pulled from the drain-
Most of us are going to have to let go of our dreams-
And grab whatever piece of flotsam we can to stay afloat.
Not you, though-

You were the brightest star out that night-
I felt it as I held your hand, felt your warmth radiate into my palm.
You shone among the darkness-
The only sun that won't fade among a host.

In truth- you were the only one really alive that night-
Excepting myself-
The moon, visible only through the light of another-
You.

I want to show you these papers-
To sing you these songs-
But I've never had an inherent knowledge of timing-
Will I get across the border this time?
Or be cast with the Dead-
Doomed to entropy and barred from life?

This is the ultimate revelation-
The final step of this cycle:
The last action remains to be taken-
Should I burn this, too, or give it to you-
With your name as a bow wrapped around it?

Author's Note

This poem started as a conversation I had with my prom date, Jenny Conner. She said that she really wanted to wear a hoodie over her prom dress, becasue it was cold, and I said, "Hoodie and a Prom Dress... sounds like a song." I then said something along the lines of, "I tend to say 'that sounds like it'd be a good song' a lot - I need to start at least writing these ideas down, so when I develop some musical talent I can write the song!"

Well - instead of a song, I decided to turn it into a poem... there was a subscript, to the title, originally - "A song never to be set to music because there is only one to sing it." but... I got rid of it - I didn't like it. It did fit in with the whole "song" motif, though, so... it should at least be mentioned :P

The first stanza of the poem that I wrote (and later changed around) went like this:

"Love songs seemed to play slower-
Leaving spaces between the notes for me to slip in
And find you there, hiding all the while in the song-
Unnoticed by all"

That came to me when I was at a computer, so I typed it in and moved on. When I actually started writing the poem, I left out that whole stanza, so I put it in, later, along with a couple of other stanzas afterward, to expound on that thought.

The part at the begining, with the letters - that actually happened... though a whole lot different then I made it sound in the poem. I was at my grandmother's one day, and she was burning old junk mail and bank statements in the back yard - I stayed around, to help her, and... the rest is history. At one point, I was standing up, fanning the flames, and this piece of paper flew off of the pile - it had part of a word on it. It landed on my shirt, like a postapocalyptic snowflake, and, when I touched it to find out what it said, it literally turned to dust in my hand. I knew, at some point, that I wanted to dramatize that in some way, shape, or fashion... so I did. :D

I had a whole part written about the "hidden" things in the poem, like references and similarities and such, but... I'll leave those for you to find. :D

Reviews

[ladywriter]

This is really good, I'm glad to see a guy can be deep like this. Keep it up.