Pawned

Magpie Tales #25

Pawned

The leathery old man at the pawn shop reached across the glass countertop and blew cigar smoke in my face.

"Ma'am," he rasped, "You can't sell this lock.  Not while your first love still has the key."

Swimming

The sun cuts like a knife

through the watery surface

 and the bottom of the pool suddenly

becomes a place where

brilliant diamond-shapes

come to dance.

someone calls my name from

across a vast expanse

and i leap unabashedly into the atmosphere

secure in the knowledge

of being caught.

Because i am little i do not feel

the iciness of the water as it hits my skin,

for i am wearing an imaginary cape

(if you didnt notice)

I do not taste the salty chlorine,

for i still have remnants

of hot dog stuck in my teeth.

I can't feel the sting of water

going up my nose

for ive learned enough to

hold

my

breath

upon

impact.

Inhaling deeply i lie on my back
pretending to be a dead log.

The balloons of air tucked deep in my stomach

will be my secret supply of oxygen.

i push my belly above the surface

showing the birds and squirrels

my neat trick

If i wanted

I could roll around in any formation,

wiggling my toes

and somersaulting into oblivion and

watch the blue underwater world spin

round and round like the dryer.

So when did i learn fear?

today

i rip the plasticy smelling water wings

off my arms

and step to the edge of the world

and i dont care
if someone is there to catch me

when i leap into the air

because i remember now

what i once knew as a small child:

that

i

can

float.

Control. Alt. DELETE.

Betrayal. 

It always has a bitter taste.

Exposed.  Flesh rubbed raw with knowledge and regret.

The potent herb clings to the roof of your mouth

and rivers of stones crush your ribcage.

Betrayal. 

You can always smell the aroma before you taste it.

A glass wall of illusion smashed ruthlessly from a bird's fragile wing.

Shifting space and time.  Rotating galaxies and paradigms.

Not again.

Betrayal.

Awkward thrusts in vain to put the bricks back in place.

A siren in the background humming ominously.

What has been done to you will be done again.

Except this time,

 you will not be paralyzed in confusion.

You will scream and shake your fist at the sky

before collapsing in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

A voice beckons, "Stupid girl."

[This whisper is familiar to you.

Its deep timbre was the same tone

of the warden

who kept you locked deep your prison made of pills.]

Today you walk away from the voice,

smacking your lips in determination

and spit out the human waste.

A light shines ahead.

You thank God at the first scent of the approaching rain

which always seems to bring with it a coppery epiphany.

Post-It Note Tuesdays

Sparklers

The wide-eyed, pig-tailed girl inhales deeply and smells the residue of old flame. 


This week i am a used sparkler stick. 
All the glitter and magic has fallen off, burned out.
I twist myself around but no matter what
           configuration i convolute
my limbs into,
I cannot
write

my
name

in
the
sky.


Musty and crusty, i fling myself onto the abyss of the gravel driveway.


Deciding to have a pity parade
i ignore the revelers dancing around me. 
If i can't be majestic again, I have no reason to celebrate.
I will refuse to look into the heavens and marvel at the brilliance of others.


The girl, sticky-fingered from Superman ice cream, bends over and picks me up. 
She clutches me like a wand or a scepter, spinning my darkened form in the air.


[you wont let me go]


She won't discard me because my luster has extinguished. 


[I don't deserve to be held this tightly.]


This must be
Grace.