I scraped the last of Keddy’s rot from my driveway and dumped the sour skins. Late autumn beams gave warmth for sandals and sun hats. In three years I had never bitten a fallen apple. That would be stealing. I stripped wet gloves to prepare for my task.
Seventeen would not make it serial. Each act was unique and, though compelled, I knew that I had changed. An antique bag concealed my tools and I scavenged for new additions. Dirty paper outlined details dripped in blue, with no expected confirmation of closure. The leather mouth consumed twine and scissors, a wonder I hadn’t needed them before.
I walked in humility without my early resentment at obligations. This body shed cells of regret a thousand times these three years. I was new. There was no moral of conversion. Tonight the work would be complete, but I would not.
A sweet bonfire wind tickled porch chimes, baritone verse in tousled wood. The empty hook winked me a shiver and I dreamt the final token. Maybe Zoe wouldn’t pounce the fence to bat at chimes if I carved the yew in delicate treble. I pocketed the dull blade and slipped into my rubber boots.
This piece demanded a number of readings, and rewarded each as layer after layer uncovered themselves.
I shivered at what “Seventeen would not make it serial” might portend and loved “This body shed cells… the work would be complete, but I would not.”
This will remain with me for a long while. Many thanks.
Thanks, Kevin, but are you sure you found all the secrets?
Oh I doubt it
Like Kevin, I think this will bear rereading. The prose is so terse yet evocative that it feels like a prose poem. Love the musical imagery, and ‘This body shed cells of regret a thousand times these three years’ is an awesome line. Real on-the-body imagery that converys the emotional in the physical. I’ll be coming back to this piece.
Like the others, I found the many layers intriguing. Very poetic. Loved the musical quality.
Thanks, Dan and Laura! It was fun to write. I really love the fridayflash thing!
Loved it too. For some reason, it reminded me of Dexter the TV show. But, you know, a lot better.
Ryan, I don’t even know what Dexter is. Now I’m afraid to look!
‘A sweet bonfire wind’ – gorgeous! definitely a prose poem in disguise, it fits the criteria – spare evocative language, lots of layers, etc.
fab
Thanks, Pippa! I don’t know much about poetry, or prose poetry, but you’re not the first one to mention that to me. I should look it up. Thanks for reading!
Wonderfully written and a pleasure to read again and again.
Chris, thanks for stopping by and taking the time to comment!
There is a lyrical quality to your writing that I enjoy quite a bit. Nice.
~jon
Thank you, Jon. I wonder how much my style will continue to change. I don’t seem to have settled into anything quite yet. It does seem I’m using fewer words and exploring shorter snippets of life.
This is a really lovely piece, and like the rest I know I am going to have to read it many more times.
I am so jealous of how you can say so much in such a little piece.
Many apologies for being late.
~2
No apologies! I’m grateful you’re late. Your tweets are reminding me to get everyone added to my blogroll. And I’m jealous of your powerful imagination!
Oh, yes, this is poetry. Lay it out anyway you like, but this is poetry. Pick any phrase at random:
A sweet bonfire wind
Sounds like the title of a good book.
Lovely piece, Jen.
Thank you, Jeff. I can’t wait for autumn!
Murder, he wrote. You tease me with fonder secrets. I can’t see past the floral aching lines and tangerine-tattered leaves.
Love your work as usual.
Carrie
I deliberately wrote this to see if readers would find it good or evil, their own truth. http://www.jentropy.com/archives/359 #litchat