Okay, so here we go. I think you can all tell where my head's at. If you can't, please read my previous post to see where my emotions are originating from right now.
My mom told me one time that God can handle my anger-- i should be angry with Him and then move on. Here's to hoping.
I.
She looks down at the granules at her feet,
thinking,
"If moments of time were measured in sand,
I wish I could
go back and give you a beachful."
She looks up at the silent stars in the sky,
screaming,
"Fuck you, God.
Fuck you."
[In reply,
there is nothing but the sound
of the wind and the waves,
chanting:
chanting:
chanting:
"They were never yours to give."]
II.
She looks down at the keys on her keyboard,
punching,
"I will find the words to bring you back--
words
that can heal us both."
She looks up at the whirling ceiling fan
muttering,
"Fuck you, God.
Fuck you."
III.
An electric memory shoots from the back
of her brain
[or from the silent sky]
Lying on the beach with her friend.
The wind whipped hard that day,
mixing the pleasure of the sun's rays with gravely rain.
Irritated,
her friend bolted upright from her beach towel.
"Are you ready to go yet?"
"Why?"
"It's too sandy."
"Carrie, it's the beach."
"I know but it's windy and getting all over. I'm going for a walk. Just not a fan of sand. Never have been, never will be."
"Well, i'm not ready to get up. I'm gonna lie here for a while."
"Okay, see you later."
"Bye, Carrie."
IV.
A granule of hope appears.
She never liked sand, anyway.
The previous poem was written as my first attempt at participating in Theme Thursday. Everyone should check this site out!
