Today I was looking over which pieces I want to read for a Senior reading tomorrow. I was debating between two stories I wrote last year (that I might post eventually) but since I couldn’t decide which one I wanted to read, I am going to post some poetry instead.
I missed the sun today,
the way it moved
across the open sky; it dappled leaves
and squinted pupils up to nothingness.
And yet I have no urge to talk of suns,
and how time inevitably goes by.
These worries are safely kept
for those who write of love and death –
from spring and leaves to snow.
I much prefer to think, not talk of such ideas.
No, I would rather sit by an open window,
preferably one with a breeze that cools my skin,
and watch these statements of grandeur
quickly become wrinkled with old age.
Sestina for Sean
“Hey kid, what’s up?”
is how you greeted me before you told me that Sean died.
But the last time I saw you I was ten
and you were on stage singing
“Maria” from West Side Story.
I remember because that day I had a cold.
“Yup kid, life is cold.”
you had told me back then, but I couldn’t tell if you were making it up
for dramatic effect in the story –
reciting your lines before the characters died.
But there sure was a lot of singing
Back when I was ten.
“Kid, I can only talk for ten
minutes or so.” you told me. You said there was a breeze and you were cold,
and you didn’t want to get sick before you continued on with your singing
career, although I thought you wanted to leave to go shoot up
after realizing Sean had died.
As drugs rushed through your veins you saw yourself as invincible – the perfect superhero story.
“So kid, tell me a story”
you said. “After all, I haven’t seen you since you were ten,
and I need a distraction from death.”
So I told you how it was cold
today in Massachusetts, but I was hoping it would warm up
again. That’s all I could think of other than to say I had to go to rehearsal soon because I was singing.
“That’s awesome kid, singing
is awesome.” you told me. “Really tells a story
ya know? Really gets across what’s up
in people’s minds, and fast – in less than ten
beats per measure. It doesn’t have to be all cold
either. You don’t have to sing just because someone died.”
I told you you weren’t supposed to be thinking about the fact that Sean had died
But you had already started singing.
Your tune was mournful, cold,
I couldn’t detect a real story.
And even though I already knew, all I could think to say was “so what’s up?
What’s happened since I was ten?”
You stopped singing and told me it was a cold
world. The story ends with someone dead.
And that’s what’s been up since I was ten.
That one was kind of dark – I’m usually not that depressing I swear. Also the form had a lot to do with it. Here is a the wikipedia article for what a sestina is – it has a very specific format to it hence all the weird repetition.