home?

We just arrived bak at UNC-W after a very interesting stay in Chapel Hill. Seeing my mom (and little sisters) was probably the best part, and soaking in the hippie-wonderful atmosphere was a close second. It's very different from Wilmington, and being back there almost felt like visiting myself in a former life time...I saw a lot of people from my past who I hadn't really expected to see, but it turned out for the best. Mostly. I don't know what else to say...I'm feeling a bit under the weather emotionally. Cleaning room, organizing, coffee, etc.

Another CRW assignment..?

Memory.

I don’t remember what made us run

that icy morning, but my panicked feet fled

with a speed before unknown to them

into the forest, as that scream ricocheted and echoed

in our minds. The four of us were terrified,

each envisioning the same thing: “the worst”

whatever that meant to each of us.

Though at twelve years old, the very worst thought I could muster

would never be horrific enough, and never came close to the truth,

because I didn’t know what death meant.

So we just rushed on into the forest, convinced

partially by naivete and partially by desire

that if we ran quickly enough we could escape the truth.

Spiny twigs and thorns littered among dead leaves

stung the soft flesh of my bare feet

but failed to slow me. Each painful step on the forest floor

was motivation to keep moving, until reality

put the finishing touches on a simply stunning concrete wall

of realization. It loomed before us and stopped me

dead in my tracks.

Running wouldn’t help, and so I stood

helplessly and unable to cry.

Cold morning air found its way to my lungs

and my feet found their way back home.

I wondered if we had guests, and what poor timing it would to be

for entertaining visitors, when I saw the driveway filled with cars

Until I registered the unmistakable blue markings

and lights on large white vehicles, silent and looming.

There were no sirens, there were no flashing lights, no ambulance.

There was no emergency, in the eyes of the law,

and I know now it was because you were already gone

and stiller than the cold.

I don't know why I remember

the way Iceberg tasted against Swiss cheese after little specks of pepper

had been scattered across the surface

spat from an old wooden grinder that was worn smooth

where your shaking hands held it

The kitchen watched us

creaking in protest to being woken so late.

The knife begged us to go back to bed,

but sliced obligingly into that two-day-old loaf that held us all together

when I muttered I couldn't sleep

just yet

Something about the way I indulged in those simple tastes

and the relish with which I ate my "funny pieces" -

just bits of chopped cheese and deli meats

that you transformed into something delightful

with just your words and your authority of my world then -

made you know how much I loved you,

right?

I should be writing a memory poem, but that's all that'll come

just now.

We'll see what sober morning can come up with tomorrow. Perhaps it'll actually fit the assignment.

9

Winter Turns to Spring

I.

My icy fingers slip inside your sleeve

and nestle between your warm ones. The satin

lining of your peacoat licks my wrist.

I press my nose against you cheek

chilled like marble from the freezing night

and feel the warmth of my breath reflected upon my lips

as I whisper something nice

to watch you smile.

Our breath hangs in the thin air like fog.

My spine bends my head forward against the chill

and my mouth finds the opening slit in a plastic cup,

then seeks the plump softness of your lips.

The heavy warmth of coffee, thickened

with sugar and cream

will linger on my tongue.

II.

A drop of rain shatters like glass against my nose.

It cools the heat rising in my cheeks

like hives, and my eyelids dart open

to reveal the sky, hued peach and lavender

into my retinas.

The breath of a sigh parts my lips

before the sharp edge of my tooth

can sink into the lower one again.

The warmth of a breeze brushes by my exposed skin

as though to remind me of your absence.

Begging mouths in a prickly nest are the only reminders

that the raven’s wings had ever rested with another’s

in a simpler time when branches were bare

and the coal black feathers sheened blue in the moonlight.

hmm

Baby wombats are some of the cutest critters I've seen. I kind of wish I were at the marsupial rescue center somewhere in Australia, nurturing weird furry orphan creatures...I'd really like to be anywhere else right now.

It's not unpleasant here, really. It's just vastly different from being at home and from the routine of high school that I had become so accustomed to. I suppose I'm still adjusting, still figuring out how things work and how to become self sufficient. I've been feeling dissatisfied, a feeling I'm pretty used to. It's a restlessness that seems permanent, and I can't figure out how to keep myself occupied and happy. I have friends whom I love, weekly meetings of the UNC-W Pride group, trips to the Gypsy and other downtown venues, and a genuine interest in most of my classes. Lounging in my lofted bed, nestled in blankets and browsing the internet and watching TV has been my activity of choice (or necessity) lately, though. It's pretty detrimental to my emotional well-being, I fear. All I can do is wish and want and need and mope. Old habits die hard. I can't stop thinking about what used to be, what I used to have, or what I wish I had. I am so lucky, I know that. So many people don't have the opportunities that I do...I am so fortunate. I am very lucky. So why do I feel this perpetual dissatisfaction? I feel so guilty for feeling this way, yet I can't deny it.

I wonder why I've felt this strong yearning for Her lately. It's likely I yearn for the stability, the comfort, and the security that I felt with her. I long for the kind of relationship that we had. That we had. I don't know why it's so difficult for me to comprehend the importance of the tense of that sentence. Past tense. Had. I'll get it eventually I guess.

Anyway.

I need to meet M. for lunch at Wag before going down to Holden for the afternoon. Later I need to write another poem, which I'm looking forward to. Completing my CRW assignments lately has been a pretty great routine. Mmm. :D

More later, perhaps.

Best,

S-