Transformations (of the Book's Speech)

An imitation of The Book's Speech by Lynn Emanuel

While you wait for the punchline, you become the static,
frozen moment in time embedded in a photograph,
you become the bottom drawer heaving with abandoned
poems and the rusting lock attached to it, keeping them
scanty and unfinished, and like a grim headline, you stay
anchored to your losses, and just twenty feet ahead you see
the departure gate swing shut; you hang about like a neglected
wind-up toy, not quite yourself anymore, rigid and useless,
until you run out of excuses to stay in bed.

You've disabled the brakes. What were you thinking?
What does it feel like to move so fast that you become a blur, 
out of focus and unrecognizable? You fly through crowds and 
months and there, the road levels out and through uneasy slits
of eyes you spot the finish line. This smooth dwindling, steady crystallization,

is not the finish line really, it is disappointment lurking in
the bedroom that used to be yours where the summer
nights are humid and sticky, and the cherry blossom patterned curtains
flutter playfully away from the propped open windows.
And you are pulling into the driveway, you are clamoring up the stairs
with your legs giving out; your batteries are running dry and the curtains
swell and deflate with the breeze of your erratic breathing, and just before
you fall asleep, a sliver of the dawn sneaks through the door
and paints an orange crack on the wall large enough for you to melt into.

Reviews

[Emily B]

it's good to see you back :)

[...]

. this is so unbelievable ... i just mentioned the "finishing line" in my previous review" ... the tone of your words is biting ... and powerful ... these images speak volumes ... i can't help but wonder what "melting into the orange crack" must feel like ...