Holy Husk

 

The smaller moments get lost. Fade. So I turn the screws and remember the memories; recall. Sea lions. That yellow ten-speed with the tarry cloth seat cover. White Russians. The last page of Les Miserables and the first page of Catcher in the Rye. Horses. Jagged Edge. Flashlights and forts. And I remember the better-forgotten. The bullies. Porn. Slap. Dusk in the desert and those damn bats. Spam and peas. That face when you left. Room 39. 

 

I expect I’ll be forgotten when age absorbs me and eloquence leaks. I can see the four bare walls now, teeth in a glass, the so-long cigarettes that pull me toward that grave. America’s about the young, the beautiful, and I’m only young. Barely. This is the land where we put puppies to sleep when we up and move. Our grandparents get left. America, the home of the botched and bungled.   

 

If we don’t do our own remembering, no one does it for us. If we don’t tell our story before we get shuffled, there is no narrator for the scene. Fade to black.  

 

I remember a life. Mine. I know the sheen. Smell the blood and vomit. See the darker spaces. Touch the tighter places. Insides and outsides. Naughty. Nice. Notions knotted, locked inside. And the words I speak that belie. A man has to kill his own snakes so draw the line, make the mark. I’m given to spending a life to tell this story; mine.

 

I’ve heard it said, “publishing is a hole.” We throw ourselves headlong into the dark. But. This story; this flicker-spark in holy husk shines. Publish or not, I am worth writing.

Author's Note

...speaking to myself.

Reviews

[Hoshi Nami]

Brilliant. My mother would call this a "brain dump" (charming, I know). Yet sometimes, in the aftermath of all the words and thoughts exploding forth the world seems clearer. That is the vibe I get from this and can't relate to it wholeheartedly. It's mnot east to face the reality that one day you will be history. Bravo, great write.

[TL Boehm]

I agree. this is brilliant.

[Sidewalk]

"This is the land where we put puppies to sleep when we up and move."
very moving. I'm liking this line

[Emily B]

Publishing is a hole. But words are meant to be read. And your flicker spark of the holy husk shines bright.

[stella]

Yes, before our mortal coils get shuffled off, write your act off into the blue. I'm with you. And I appreciate your prose/poem style. Maybe something like the bards of old mixed with commentary. And thanks for the Mary Oliver bit; thanks a lot.

[DavidRyan]

Beautifully worded man. I love the last line. "Publish or not, I am worth writing". Well done. I loved reading this.

[An Ordinary Woman]

You are soooooooooooooooo worth writing. My mentor always reminds me that poets can't be famous until we die but still our mark needs to be placed in the loving hands of those that love and care for us. You have a very special gift friend. Use it. Make the world a better place.

If I could favorite this ten times, I would. Somehow once doesn't seem enough.

[Emily B]

someday I will be telling my grandchildren about experiencing words via some sort of electronic cafe and all about the amazing writers I met there, and there will be names that have long since become part of the public domain of the worthy lining library shelves . . . you are one of those.

to publish or not, it seems to me that the process is inevitable. we believe in our words. we put them out there, we share little pieces of ourselves that we don't always feel are worthy to hold to the light. and sometimes they are well worth sharing with a universe through time immemorial.

thanks for including us in your conversations with self, they resemble some of the thoughts we all have