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 Posted: Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:45 pm
I took the train to Barcelona
but somehow forgot how to dance
so instead I stand
weary-eyed; sinking into dream portraits
on those days when your flesh burns
at the sight of a stop sign.
See I have this feeling I live with.
(A roommate of sorts that hides under my bed,
or slouches in that extra seat we always have
next to us at dinner.)
Let's call this feeling invasion.
And not invasion in the sense of a man
entering your home late at night
making his way through
all your favourite hiding spots.
No this is much bigger, something like
every day is Sunday morning
and you're opening your front door
to find an entire army suddenly
tracing your body with red laser beams.
When I was younger I took my mother to be
the Wicked Witch of the West
who was always trying to steal
my Ruby Slippers.
And like all talented witches,
she seemed to forever know my location
so that I had to keep moving, keep
coughing my way through
the hollowness of her gestures.
There was a day when she made me
read my journal aloud and erase
any thought she didn't approve of.
Didn't find painted her
in a glowing light.
When we were finished,
the pages were blank.
And if someone were to say,
"Remy how do you feel
about your childhood?"
I would speak only one word,
"Invaded."
So please forgive me if I carry
this feeling around like a puppy
I have grown to know so well
that when its original owner
stands in front of me, asking for its return,
I reply with, "Sorry but it's been so long...
I wouldn't know who I was without it."
Wouldn't know what it would feel like
to not suspect every hand to be
the next grenade on its way
to meet me in Ulster.
But still I keep moving,
hoping to find that one place
they never entered.
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Posted: Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:50 pm
I wasn't quite sure how the first stanza fit in, but I loved the first two lines especially, and the entire first stanza was my favorite.
I also loved the analogy of the puppy, it reminds me of Elfin Lied...and the journal part reminded me of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, when her mother read her diary and made her put that her dad was "sick" instead of "drunk."
I liked the last two stanzas, as well, they really brought it together.
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Posted: Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:55 pm
The first stanza.. oh the stories I could tell.
Thank you Kirby. I will look into rewriting it.
Hopefully then I can capture that feeling.
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Posted: Wed Jul 09, 2008 6:55 pm
Wow, you should really get this stuff off of your chest every now and then.
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Posted: Thu Jul 10, 2008 11:17 am
What's Ulster? Is it a place?
You had to make parts of it fit. It worked well. Have you really been to Barcelona?
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Posted: Thu Jul 10, 2008 7:25 pm
Ulster is one of four Provinces in Ireland.
And yes, I have been to Barcelona.
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Posted: Fri Jul 11, 2008 8:30 am
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Posted: Fri Jul 11, 2008 9:38 am
Ah it is. So fresh and crisp.
A little like Italian cuisine, but then different.
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Posted: Fri Jul 11, 2008 8:57 pm
Bet it's really pretty there. heart *sigh*
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