deepundergroundpoetry.com
Phoebe
You mustn’t forget the black Mary Janes.
The handsprings and the cat-shaped clocks.
My restless blond hair braided neat and tight
but that watery emptiness in my eyes.
We watch the seamen with their gray beards
while caramel leaks from our pink-stained
mouths. My angry white knuckles
as I fist the folds of my blue dress.
Our clapboard house leaning from neglect,
its shelves after shelves of geisha dolls.
When it happens we’ll taste
of maraschino and molasses.
Of glass milk bottles
and purple pogo sticks.
Afterwards we’ll crouch in the corner,
our toes numb, shivering.
Our little brains wondering
in an odd sort of detachment
what this might do
to the rest of our lives.
The handsprings and the cat-shaped clocks.
My restless blond hair braided neat and tight
but that watery emptiness in my eyes.
We watch the seamen with their gray beards
while caramel leaks from our pink-stained
mouths. My angry white knuckles
as I fist the folds of my blue dress.
Our clapboard house leaning from neglect,
its shelves after shelves of geisha dolls.
When it happens we’ll taste
of maraschino and molasses.
Of glass milk bottles
and purple pogo sticks.
Afterwards we’ll crouch in the corner,
our toes numb, shivering.
Our little brains wondering
in an odd sort of detachment
what this might do
to the rest of our lives.
Published 22nd Dec 2014
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Anonymous
22nd Dec 2014 12:13pm
An amazing display of vivid descriptions..always good to read your distinctive ink my friend
23rd Dec 2014 00:45am
Thanks so much, Muse... Your comments always warm my heart and make me smile. :)
Anonymous
22nd Dec 2014 4:50pm
Seems a thrilling experience,intriguing,Toni
23rd Dec 2014 00:46am
22nd Dec 2014 11:23pm
Intense, evocative and surreal, "Phoebe" explores the mysteries of girls discovering the "taste of maraschino and molasses," which I interpret as being their sexual awakening. No fever or panic, but that "odd sort of detachment." Fascinating.
23rd Dec 2014 1:11am
Hmmm, crow, I'm fascinated by your interpretation. I always use a lot of childhood memories in these pieces - I don't know if I went too far, but I was actually trying to capture when my stepfather was very physically abusive. Because after the terror I would crouch and wonder blandly if the experience would have an effect on me in later life. (It very much did.) I even wonder if I was intent on threading undertones of sexual abuse but I still am not certain - I was not sexually abused, harassed is a better word for what I experienced, those little things that you can feel in your gut are wrong but nothing you could actually chalk up to physical violation... But I can definitely see your take, a girl's sexual awakening, and its possible ramifications of detachment and unresponsiveness. I have to say my sexual awakening was not like this, I was quite the opposite and have had a highly difficult time in this regard over my lifetime. But perhaps I should start subscribing to your opinions, LOL. Thanks for writing, your comments always stimulate my rather dormant brain as of late. Sorry I gave you a tome again. :)
23rd Dec 2014 4:15am
It looks like I misread between the lines, but I tend to fixate on details. I take your individual poems as enigmas, with the tone and imagery supplying clues. My interpretation of "Phoebe" was obviously more benign than the realities of your life. I'm not sure how I could have imagined "an odd sort of detachment" applied to sexual awakening. That would make much more sense as a defense mechanism to minimize the effect of cruelty. Your poems contain impressions of people and locations rather than snapshots, and the ambiguity is an asset, not a problem. I'm just sorry about your suffering and its lingering effect. It certainly hasn't diminished your creativity.
