deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Coals
It's not reverse I hear
but the gearbox going forward
and away from my home.
The trailer burns and roars
like thunder in an azure sky.
It's night but the sun stayed
to watch me go.
Momma runs out of the trailer
with the screen-door melted
and seared to her skin. A
trail of smoke shows me she
runs into the woods.
It was the one night, the last
night I had to live it, the last
night he made me watch him
cutting the dog then touching
Momma again. Momma didn't like it
but if she didn't mind she'd
get a rake pushed up past where
I used to float around, like
a cloud.
My knees always buckled but I was too
stiff to fall. I wished I could
fall and faint like the movies,
run away in a pretty dream.
The last time I had a dream was
at grandma's house: I was a
dancer, my legs weren't pained
or cut up by daddy, they didn't
buckle and I wasn't too scared
to let my face show. I was
painted from head to toe in
mountains, in swamps, in hills,
and in the ocean. I was beautiful.
I used to dance, I used to
know people, go places, as always
the woods and Daddy's gate blocked
my happy days away.
He drunkenly tried to put the
beer bottle on the end table,
everyone was quiet in the kitchen,
and the dog's licking her wounds.
Momma looked down at me, tears in
her swollen, purple eyes. She never
tried to help me when they came;
daddy's friends, so I don't feel
nothing for her.
She hands me the last beer bottle
from the box, half empty with a rag
in the top.
"I've never loved you much, Enny, but take
care."
She whispers like a sigh.
I stand up in silence as she turns back
around, nudging the burnt sausage in the
skillet.
I run. I run for my Momma, run for my Daddy,
run for the dog who always licked my wounds.
The rag is burning, my body's breaking,
I throw it back and I'm free.
I get in the truck, an old white Chevy,
and I drive through the gate that they said
I never could.
It's not reverse I hear
but the gearbox going forward
and away from my home -
the coals.
but the gearbox going forward
and away from my home.
The trailer burns and roars
like thunder in an azure sky.
It's night but the sun stayed
to watch me go.
Momma runs out of the trailer
with the screen-door melted
and seared to her skin. A
trail of smoke shows me she
runs into the woods.
It was the one night, the last
night I had to live it, the last
night he made me watch him
cutting the dog then touching
Momma again. Momma didn't like it
but if she didn't mind she'd
get a rake pushed up past where
I used to float around, like
a cloud.
My knees always buckled but I was too
stiff to fall. I wished I could
fall and faint like the movies,
run away in a pretty dream.
The last time I had a dream was
at grandma's house: I was a
dancer, my legs weren't pained
or cut up by daddy, they didn't
buckle and I wasn't too scared
to let my face show. I was
painted from head to toe in
mountains, in swamps, in hills,
and in the ocean. I was beautiful.
I used to dance, I used to
know people, go places, as always
the woods and Daddy's gate blocked
my happy days away.
He drunkenly tried to put the
beer bottle on the end table,
everyone was quiet in the kitchen,
and the dog's licking her wounds.
Momma looked down at me, tears in
her swollen, purple eyes. She never
tried to help me when they came;
daddy's friends, so I don't feel
nothing for her.
She hands me the last beer bottle
from the box, half empty with a rag
in the top.
"I've never loved you much, Enny, but take
care."
She whispers like a sigh.
I stand up in silence as she turns back
around, nudging the burnt sausage in the
skillet.
I run. I run for my Momma, run for my Daddy,
run for the dog who always licked my wounds.
The rag is burning, my body's breaking,
I throw it back and I'm free.
I get in the truck, an old white Chevy,
and I drive through the gate that they said
I never could.
It's not reverse I hear
but the gearbox going forward
and away from my home -
the coals.
Published 15th Sep 2012
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16th Sep 2012 7:18am
"I was
painted from head to toe in
mountains, in swamps, in hills,
and in the ocean. I was beautiful."
Funny how these lines are the ones i remember most.
That and the business with the dog; adds a dimension
i never expected. Definite like.
painted from head to toe in
mountains, in swamps, in hills,
and in the ocean. I was beautiful."
Funny how these lines are the ones i remember most.
That and the business with the dog; adds a dimension
i never expected. Definite like.
shivers down arms, my girl.
"I never loved you much, Enny, but take
care"
is what stuck with me. the raw humanity of the basic charity where love isn't even the issue. lots of terrain here, Jade. well brought.
"I never loved you much, Enny, but take
care"
is what stuck with me. the raw humanity of the basic charity where love isn't even the issue. lots of terrain here, Jade. well brought.
17th Sep 2012 1:39pm
I am afraid of these kind of poetry which I once loved. Well that's a secret. I donno wat to say but yeah very beautiful proses like the staying of the sun till night to watch you. Don't stay in this category for long, "Eclipse poetry"
Don't ask me why?
Don't ask me why?
18th Sep 2012 5:10pm
"but if she didn't mind she'd
get a rake pushed up past where
I used to float around, like
a cloud."
I think these lines are brilliant; they've been reverberating in my head for the two days since I first read this. It's really interesting how the idea of floating like a cloud disassociates child from mother, and then how it juxtaposes that brute sharp image of the rake with the carefree and gentle connotations of the cloud.
get a rake pushed up past where
I used to float around, like
a cloud."
I think these lines are brilliant; they've been reverberating in my head for the two days since I first read this. It's really interesting how the idea of floating like a cloud disassociates child from mother, and then how it juxtaposes that brute sharp image of the rake with the carefree and gentle connotations of the cloud.
