crackling

more of a personal blog

sometimes I forget who I am. 

I don't mean in the sense of the blinding rages my father used to experience, 

not the quiet tears my mother cried either, 

when she asks me why she'd done the things she'd done, 

how she'd brought herself to run the way she did. 

I forgot in the way that I've been meaning to, wanting to, for years, 

and it's terrifying. 

I started with my reflection;

I pulled and prodded at my features like some plastic surgeon, 

twisted my skin and ripped apart my clothes, 

cotton tearing like paper, old stories I'd written, 

poems when I barely understood what words meant. 

And now I look at myself and all I can find are my eyes, 

less raw, quieter, a laugh and a half, 

studying myself and recognizing,

"yes, there's a freckle, faded as it is, 

I think that's mine" and I smile and wonder what I'm laughing at, 

because there's not much funny in falling away;

I forget in repetition--

in the doing, in getting used to things being the way they are, 

because they change so much but that change is just a pattern

unfolding, stitching itself through the whole time I've been alive--

like the cracks of pavement outside my apartment.

they used to map out the decay of Prague, 

like some disease where the skin of the city

slowly peels back and there are the moths and the ants

that invaded our kitchen in the summer, slowly marching past the 

sink to the window, and we left then, 

to memories, to California where I am

still a person, I think.

I think.

sometimes I want to drink up the creek across my childhood house

because I can imagine it tasting like the years

that I know have gone by: they call me 18 now, 

old as anything in my eyes, and they tell me that's been a long, long time

since I've been home. 

I nod and sleep, because going home is exhausting, 

not from the jetlag, not from the plane, 

not from the car ride whose soft hushing rhythm is lullaby enough for me

when I haven't been in a car for a year and a half.

I soak my feet and climb my trees and my limbs feel as long as the branches now, 

and the jump is a step, and sometimes I can reach up

and grasp the leaves like they were each year gone by, 

each dream that I've dreamt;

they crackle and fall to pieces as I try to hold them, and are lost 

in the ferns and poison oak.

they cover my skin, 

little pieces of leaves, and they cover me like every autumn used to, 

like each moment that I've missed, 

every piece of something that I've left. 

Author's Note

So. Alright. Everything in here is personal; I don't think I've used a single piece of imagery that isn't factual for me. I even tried to stray away from metaphors. Granted, this is probably flawed all the same because I'm dealing with massive writer's block at the moment, and this was typed straight into the window, which is something I never do.

Reviews

[M.D Leon]

You bring the idea of identity into perspective in a very eloquent and inspired form. I had to read it a couple of time to really grasp its subtleties, dont know if those were intended or not, the only thing i know is that it sparked thoughts into my mind and any piece that does that is a great piece. well done

[Coyote Poetry]

Such strength and power in your words. Each set of lines leading the reader into thoughts. I like the visions and places you took me in the poem. When we look inside our emotion and life. Can open the door to questions. Thank you for the amazing poetry.
Coyote

[Moonflower]

This, for me at least, was pure and sacred perfection. Every moment, every word poured out in images that completely fit and mold to my own wishes and memories. It has been a long while since I have gone back to my childhood home, the place where I spent my summer days roaming around farmlands and fishing holes. This made me ache and smile, all at once.

I can't even describe what I felt, while reading this, besides the fact that since the last time I read your work, you have noticably grown and evolved into an even more amazing writer (was that even possible?)

You never cease to leave me awestruck, with an aching throat. Wonderous and Lovely, my dear..

If I may add, one tiny, miniscule suggestion that I thought would help...

"I smile and wonder what I'm laughing at,
because there's not much humor in falling away;"

I couldn't help but want to replace funny, with humor. It is only a suggestion though.

Excellent work, as always, this is definitely a new favorite

[Dani]

You are love. and you remind me of this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZd3BQgFpo8

[screamin'ian]

Really enjoyed reading this.

[bookworm]

I really can't get over you. How in the world can you only be 18? You are so observant of the subtleties in life...i love the scene about the ants. I end up feeling surprised at each next sentence, just the exquisite nature of your descriptions. You have an astounding ability to bring the reader right there with you. I see exactly what you are conveying and then I also feel such tenderness toward you that I want to offer myself up, make it better somehow. You break my heart with your words and you jar me with your insights and skill. You are such a dear favorite of mine. I want to read anything, everything you muster up. Which btw, if this is a result of "writer's block", I think you may want consider being okay with it for now...this is beautiful in its entirety.