Unravel

 

I laughed when you tore

the Sun’s astrology pages

into strips of confetti,

and flung their false sentiments

from the balcony,

where they settled in muddy puddles

like marooned white petals

soaking up filth.

 

Delighted by your encyclopaedic

recall for facts, dates, explanations –

I would lean over your shoulder,

a vague toddler;

asking and finger-jabbing

as you doodled diagrams

on beer mats.

 

We’d switch off the History Channel

half-way through documentaries,

knowing you had already gone

beyond their bite-size range

and could expand upon it all

with greater finesse.

The television became

a discarded object

towards which all our furniture

had mysteriously gravitated…

 

It was unnerving, to be this sudden

symbol of exposed ignorance;

a precarious flamingo

with no leg to stand on

as knowledge stampeded through

each one of my barren gorges.

Even the admitted-to gaps in your wisdom

offered little hope for a future

in which we erected bridges across them;

 

I was too far behind,

could only gather

the dust and olive branches

marking your trail

whilst you galloped ahead

in search of bigger and better materials.

I took refuge, “as-per-f*****g-always”

in shelves of fiction – something you,

lacking imagination,

continued to dismiss

as a compete waste of time.

 

It wasn’t just a need to be

sucked into alternative dimensions;

it was to convince myself

that aspirations of becoming a literary intellectual,

if nothing else, were within reach. Worlds where

you couldn’t follow – refused to – I revelled,

and filed their titles for later use.

 

It was my little scrap of dignity:

to reign supreme

in an exclusive corner of academia;

to know I could

bowl over your bluster

with a litany of classics and writers

and linguistic terminology.

 

I exercised restraint

with your grammar, reserving

red ink underlines

for internal triumph and emergencies.

Over-brimming with science,

you ruined rainbows for the kids;

sneered at my love affair with the sky.

 

F****r.

 

 

“Pets do not love their owners.

The illusion is merely a result

of operant conditioning.”

 

Quite.

 

Thanks for the enlightenment, dear.

Author's Note

It's not based on my life.
Let me know what you like/don't like about it. Thanks.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

well, it's somebody's life...there's not enough fiction in the world to escape the clutches of this one's or that one's reality, and that includes vampires (i married two of 'em, besides at least one angel)...this is a story of stuck, the glue of opposition, each needing the other for balance and opportunity, finally shredding hearts and parting, another soap, no growth, f****n' thing...

[Hairy and Confused]

Your writing is perfect. Absolutely perfect. It rings so true. You've sketched the characters with such skill. I wouldn't change anything.

[Anthony Morningstar]

To me I would like to see this poem in a book. Guess that sounds a little crazy but more like a story. We as one of the people is a poet and this could be something that is put down. I've wanted to do that so much create a story and then put a poem in there somewhere.

Maybe it's just a little bit of greed on my part to think that this could grow into a story of two people. I call it greed because I would like to see something like this to a large degree. Perhaps greed is the wrong word but it seems to fit so. Half way because I don't care what the author has to go though in order to create something like that. I do care though so perhaps I'm not that greedy.

[Gandré]

I see how I missed your genuine excellent writing.. this was witty with moments and I liked your emphasis on relationship layers, and their things betweenthe words. i thought you should send this to www.alicejamesbooks.org they might like it!

[J]

Y'know, you wrote this very passionately, as if it really was an autobiographical snapshot: one of you and perhaps an older sister, one who you constantly had to look up to, one that was the more logical intellectual professor type as opposed to you, the one who dealt in fiction and dreams, the other side of the coin which this older sibling couldn't touch, or rather, couldn't understand.

The disdain from both sides shows through, the jealousy, the misunderstanding, even. It's a very well-crafted look at the dynamics between another sibling and/or colleague, it really is. And to be able to step outside of yourself and write of this as if you were inside this microcosm, is a deft feat. One that I struggle with since I'm far too self-centred to write about anything other than my thoughts and experiences mostly, haha. But I'm learning, learning to branch out and look at different perspectives. As you show well here. Yup.

[W.k.kortas]

It has an edge, but it's matter-of-fact enough in presentation--and replete with enough very fine imagery--that it doesn't veer into vengeful, spittle-spraying rant. There is humor and powerful observation sprinkled throughout the piece. I found the sixth stanza a little too straight-ahead; I think a little indirectness, a little distance might soften it a bit. Still, that's a minor complaint with a very, very fine piece of writing.

[Emily B]

As a child, I only read fiction. And poetry. I had no room for facts and figures and dates and such. As an adult, after I got through the years of Winnie the Pooh and Dr. Seuss, I read mostly non-fiction and poetry. There is so much I want to learn. So many facts and figures that I want to wrap my mind around.

I like the narrative in your poem. I see these two. One forever making the other feel inferior. Robert Frost in "Mending Fences" talks about building a wall when we don't know exactly what we're fencing in or out. He's all pines and I'm all apple trees. Nothing to get in or out. But the neighbor says in his most superior tone "Good fences make good neighbors." And I think I've gone horribly off track.

Facts and figures are good. Unrestrained, creative flights of fancy are good. And sometimes it is good to be the Master of something. This may teach me better than to try and review at 5:30 a.m. :)

Glad to see your words here again.