Some weeks I’m not going to have much time to get a story together, so this week I’m trying a more abstract form – I suppose this is a poem, though I’ve never really wanted to ever write poems. Not sure about this – I think poetry or verse is a craft unto itself, and probably requires more consideration than such a quick, done and dusted approach. Pattern and rhythm is not an accident. Here it is, though.
feather
Step out onto the street.
Cold air slides, tumbles away.
Sound wrapped around eyes, light bending past noise.
Catch your breath, touch your chest, feel a feather,
Blown away, on the night, on the night.
Count each step. Step real slow.
Make a choice
Watch the wind
Keep it close
Here’s a life.
Without anybody, full of chatter.
The chatter is distant, the sounds are full.
Walk it off, keep your council, suck in salt,
Embrace the evening, step, step.
Cold and warm. Combine the clutch.
Feel a pang
Check the gap
Leave it open
Underground, the yellow glow.
Hear the noise, remember your throat.
Further away, sinking farther.
A seat, a handle, a tug on your shoulder,
Slides and whines, shakes, shakes.
Shake the thought. Let it bleed.
Soak it in
Turn it up
Play it again
The train speeds up. Faster and faster, metal peeling back. The driver is gone, voice steering away. Tumbling down, circling, the tracks fold back on themselves, and the journey is lost. Fraught, it rips apart. I forgot what I was talking about, there, for a second. I’m trying so hard to remember.
Catch your breath, touch your chest, feel a feather.
Image Source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Subway_train_in_tunnel.jpg - by Downtowngal