"Mute Blueness"

"Mute Blueness"

A Poem by Steven

and you stop yourself 
standing in a frozen pirouette
with one foot 
lightly toeing the carpet
behind you
as the wind
hits the panes of glass
a tree branch
follows soon after 
entering your room
with a crash

and the cat jets
in a blur of calico
under your bed
and you think 
after spinning around
and gaping for a moment
at the sight
with your hands
clasped over your heart
how you used to hide
in the same place
where you were told
monsters are

and your father
suddenly appears in your mind
like a tall
sludge of mud
with two dark stones
pressed into his clay face
for eyes

and it is all so real again
as the rain floods your window sill
drenching the carpet
and the musty smell
will soon rise
and the cat is still hidden
and the glass glimmers in
the bright gray sun

and the blue and yellow bruise
no longer under your eye
feels like your soul
did then
like a million small mice
squeaking in your heart
trapped paws
but there is no away

and the winter feels nice
to you now
in big coats
without swimsuits
or beaches
and it feels good
the empty spaces
where you can sit
and no one on the bench
and no one beside
you on the train
and a twin bed

and if you cry
it might all
come out
and so you don't
even when things 
that you love fly
you just grow
another layer of bark
and you think
under the rings
of armor
might be soft flesh

and you hope the mice have gone
but you can't tell anymore
it is so far away
and the rain is still falling
into your room
where no lover has been
just the cat
the harmless small cat
who can love
at a distance
confusing you
with god
for fish or chicken

and you wish
the rain drops 
pelting your floor
were really your tears
and somewhere
a cleansing would occur
and things would leave 
and things would fill that space
things you can count on
like luck
after wishing
or birthday candles
by loving flames

and you pick up the sharp glass
and it is August
and the cat is still hidden
and you clench a piece
too tightly
and the thrill
of what you see comforts you
bleaches the pain 
and you stand there
and smile
thinking it is his
red rain
and not your own
and you wish hard
but no
fairies are not angels
don't have kindness
cannot smile
they are

and you no more smile
watching the red
and back away
from the branch
your room
cumming wet leaves
and you mumble about
cleaning it up
there is no Clorox
no Lysol or soap
that they sell out there
in the happy shops
full of promises
to scrub your brain with

and one more Vicodin
chased with wine
a tiny solution
to a mountainous

and your shaking hands
are in your pockets
one in gauze
you keep around
just in case
and water washes
and down
the duct-taped
white garbage bag
beating the earth
beyond it
in small 

© 2015 Steven

Author's Note


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Each stanza of this poem forms such a breath taking image. Especially the one about the father, it just pushed forward in my mind. You have excellent word choice that creates rhythm and the connection between different images throughout the poem gives it a great flow and ties each stanza to one another. "standing in a frozen pirouette" what a beautiful image and also a strong metaphor for the entire poem. Usually with trauma the memory(ies) is cyclical and persistent, here, in your writing you have captured it as a moment in time.
Thank you for sharing

Posted 3 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Steven... I know I said it "almost" pisses me off, but after hearing the recording and reading it three times (it takes me a few reads, don't laugh! ;) ), I have come to the conclusion that your extraordinary talent actually does really piss me the f**k off.

This is the s**t you can't learn in school... raw talent. Wonderful job. :)

Posted 6 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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Must you always shame us mediocre poets...show off :)

Posted 6 Years Ago

2 of 2 people found this review constructive.

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22 Reviews
Shelved in 4 Libraries
Added on December 11, 2012
Last Updated on March 8, 2015




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