Free Write - Home

There are these multiplying moments of silence
I stood in the alleyway and smoked, once I'd properly placed my homesteads trash.
Tight in my warm clothes, the smell of roast bird wafting like steam off me in the cold.
As I breathed in the soundless winter night for the moment I dare to entertain..
I stood in the darkness, of a blue black roadway, near neighbors and pets and tragedy, I'm sure,
Desert's baking in the oven,
dinner- still hot on the countertop,
my cat companion is rustling in the winter-dead brambles near the trash.
My neck's bent backwards, I've got my attention set on the bright white moon. And the circumference drawn in pale mist breathing in the sky not so high above.
Neck bent or stretched, what have you, the way it begins before the loose lull of ache is massaged by movement.
The unseen skin beneath my lengthening hair brushed itself as I reared my head upward, at an angle, observing the halo surrounding my moon.
the friction beneath my coat between my skull and spine caused a surge of some reminiscent euphoria, like lightning, or fire at arms length,
I felt warm in the brisk, arctic air.
[this is all right, this minuscule moment.]
the aging home of where I rest my head, to my right, it is humble and well, sure lit up by the world.
The maple tree in the yard slumps naked in the cold
It's branches, twisted and as thin as they're bare, like singed broom heads in the silhouette of the light on the porch, or of course, like long, dark fingers, the tree waves at my backdoor,
I thought of the time that passes
The time when this home will be torn down. And it's memories, dead. Like the companion of this cat making noises in the brush. After time made it's passing of course.
I turn to my friend who slinks so low to the ground. He seems a part of the darkness but I trust that he is there. I approach him with calm footsteps, and click my fingers so only he could hear.
He stopped moving and awaited me to crouch
I stroked him and twisted his tail, and he showed me the wonder he'd found.
Though it was no interest to me, we scattered as a car started down the road.
After that the two of us courted the silence once more. He'd twist around my fingertips, and I'd blow smoke so thick it'd take away the moon. And I stood, and he followed.
The rotten apples on the way to the backdoor are like butyraceous egg sacs.
 I slipped but did not fall.

Reviews

[Jasmine Thurber]

Good voice and word choice

[B-poet]

A Very interesting and detailed oriented story. I like the way you write, because everything within the story is brought to life in a vivid fashion. Great job. :)