Wild Creatures
My sister keeps pestering me to pack for Thanksgiving.
Now, really. I'm in no hurry to enter the realm inhabited by Pokèmon, Bop-It, and my cousins. I don't like turkey. Long monologues on the finer points of Runescape with irritation imbrue. Next weekend will be spent in a farmhouse, full of kids and grandparents, on the top of a wooded hill in the middle of nowhere. I'll live through it for the sake being through with it.
But when conversations turn to the long-dead, when books are overpersued, when I plead for fresh distractions, come audition. Be the man my imagination projects on the great expance of slanting white ceiling tiles. I don't have a double bed anymore, but you'll fit. You'll sleep with lights blazing, kiss my hair when the air smells like cranberries Thansgiving morning. I can listen to your whisper over the loudest ruckus. Walk with me, past the dark niches that hold the statues of last year's boys.
Tender, sparkling vine trendrils of fantasy wind across beams, spiral down studs. They spout tiny flowers, furling fast at any touch. They creep under the front door into the darkness, down the drive, gaining speed now, sprouting from nothing along dusty rural highways, puzzling morning travelers as they bloom through overpass supports. They ensnare traffic cones and blanket the bleak faces of concrete barriers, fight wilt across toll booth roofs, and bolder, springing down the center of suburban streets.
Timid, now, up through a back window. We're hundreds of miles apart, but the final, crowning flower is Venus's trap.
Now, really. I'm in no hurry to enter the realm inhabited by Pokèmon, Bop-It, and my cousins. I don't like turkey. Long monologues on the finer points of Runescape with irritation imbrue. Next weekend will be spent in a farmhouse, full of kids and grandparents, on the top of a wooded hill in the middle of nowhere. I'll live through it for the sake being through with it.
But when conversations turn to the long-dead, when books are overpersued, when I plead for fresh distractions, come audition. Be the man my imagination projects on the great expance of slanting white ceiling tiles. I don't have a double bed anymore, but you'll fit. You'll sleep with lights blazing, kiss my hair when the air smells like cranberries Thansgiving morning. I can listen to your whisper over the loudest ruckus. Walk with me, past the dark niches that hold the statues of last year's boys.
Tender, sparkling vine trendrils of fantasy wind across beams, spiral down studs. They spout tiny flowers, furling fast at any touch. They creep under the front door into the darkness, down the drive, gaining speed now, sprouting from nothing along dusty rural highways, puzzling morning travelers as they bloom through overpass supports. They ensnare traffic cones and blanket the bleak faces of concrete barriers, fight wilt across toll booth roofs, and bolder, springing down the center of suburban streets.
Timid, now, up through a back window. We're hundreds of miles apart, but the final, crowning flower is Venus's trap.
She's in love with the world
But sometimes these feelings
Can be so misleading
She turns and said, Are you alright?
I said I must be fine because my heart's still beating
- The White Stripes, "Fell In Love With A Girl"
posted by Anna at 2:59 AM
4 Comments:
Again, I think the dearth of comments is due to the complexity of your words.
I'd come, but I'm female, so I'll just water the plant.
I'm so misunderstood! XD
except, when you say that, you forget there are people like me who speaks every language but that of the sane. Don't worry Anna, all will turn out fine, and I know this, for I have endured last five or so years with my aunt, her husband, and her two sons, one of which follows me around the house. No I lie, they both do, but one of them is looking for me.
hmm interesting
thanksgiving sucks
cept for the food part
christmas sucks
cept that we get off from school
thats it
hmmm
-gina xoxo
Post a Comment
<< Home