Poetry: Trio of Lost drabble-poems
These were written for the Drabble Exchange at the GFG Vegas Luau.
Each poem is 100 words long. Unbeta'd.
For gottalovev
Prompts: Sawyer; red, keepsake
~~~~
Security
What he keeps -
not worn velveteen,
clutched against nightmares.
His nightmares are too wet
heavy mineral
rich red
the slow seep
seen from beneath.
He doesn't cling to
a comforter, frayed
hand stitches patching holes
the cotton rubbed to shine.
The memory permeates;
wicking down quilted edges
to drip.
It pools on the floorboards
but isn't absorbed,
creeps across wood.
He doesn't hide
a photo, creased
corners bent through
nightly handling
beneath his pillow.
He can still see
the pointed toes of
cowboy boots,
past blanket edge,
drawing near.
He has ink
he has paper
he has a name.
And past
Acrid smoke
drawn in with each panting.
In the silence after
An argument, a scream.
Sawyer keeps what he cannot lose.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~
For zelda_zee
Prompts: Sayid; Pulling the Trigger
~~~~
Sight and Mark
Hairpin turning -
gun butt in his hand
index finger at rest;
the balance of metal
a skin memory
vivid as whiplash.
Switchback;
sharp bend
in an eroded path
wrought
from wilderness.
Despite desert
or deluge,
Sayid remembers
wall and corner
still bite.
He adjusts,
keeps pressure from the steel.
Regardless, gravity's claim
remains
electric - that current,
his constant.
The weight of repetition -
caught between
warm steel and gravity
the tool in hand
is still
better than
double-bladed promises.
Time preoccupied
twists on the wind,
flips its hems,
and hides absolution.
Narrowing
sighting down the barrel
Sayid's vision never wavers,
slides away.
But
He still hears the past,
buck
bark
and whine.
reverberation
staining the air.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~
For ella_bee
Prompts: Sawyer, thinking about Clementine
~~~~
...And Gone Forever
Clementine.
It's a sweet name
trickling through his thoughts.
It hums
in the space between
Sawyer's
tongue and teeth
on long nights,
nights bound by the common
song - restless cacophony
of prisoners, breathing
out of time.
She's a walking cadence,
the long-legged gait on a dirt road.
Oh my darlin',
Oh my darlin'
A scrap of a ghost
plucked out of his parents' attic
slapped onto prison glass.
Sawyer's
hashmarked with shadow,
thin straight lines
marking the bounds
of penny ante
spin.
He's winding up,
sweet mark dangling.
Then she curls in,
and Sawyer can hear
Luck
tapping her foot,
impatient even as she
opens that strongbox,
and tells him to not
take the wrong turn
at Albuquerque.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~
Each poem is 100 words long. Unbeta'd.
For gottalovev
Prompts: Sawyer; red, keepsake
~~~~
Security
What he keeps -
not worn velveteen,
clutched against nightmares.
His nightmares are too wet
heavy mineral
rich red
the slow seep
seen from beneath.
He doesn't cling to
a comforter, frayed
hand stitches patching holes
the cotton rubbed to shine.
The memory permeates;
wicking down quilted edges
to drip.
It pools on the floorboards
but isn't absorbed,
creeps across wood.
He doesn't hide
a photo, creased
corners bent through
nightly handling
beneath his pillow.
He can still see
the pointed toes of
cowboy boots,
past blanket edge,
drawing near.
He has ink
he has paper
he has a name.
And past
Acrid smoke
drawn in with each panting.
In the silence after
An argument, a scream.
Sawyer keeps what he cannot lose.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~
For zelda_zee
Prompts: Sayid; Pulling the Trigger
~~~~
Sight and Mark
Hairpin turning -
gun butt in his hand
index finger at rest;
the balance of metal
a skin memory
vivid as whiplash.
Switchback;
sharp bend
in an eroded path
wrought
from wilderness.
Despite desert
or deluge,
Sayid remembers
wall and corner
still bite.
He adjusts,
keeps pressure from the steel.
Regardless, gravity's claim
remains
electric - that current,
his constant.
The weight of repetition -
caught between
warm steel and gravity
the tool in hand
is still
better than
double-bladed promises.
Time preoccupied
twists on the wind,
flips its hems,
and hides absolution.
Narrowing
sighting down the barrel
Sayid's vision never wavers,
slides away.
But
He still hears the past,
buck
bark
and whine.
reverberation
staining the air.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~
For ella_bee
Prompts: Sawyer, thinking about Clementine
~~~~
...And Gone Forever
Clementine.
It's a sweet name
trickling through his thoughts.
It hums
in the space between
Sawyer's
tongue and teeth
on long nights,
nights bound by the common
song - restless cacophony
of prisoners, breathing
out of time.
She's a walking cadence,
the long-legged gait on a dirt road.
Oh my darlin',
Oh my darlin'
A scrap of a ghost
plucked out of his parents' attic
slapped onto prison glass.
Sawyer's
hashmarked with shadow,
thin straight lines
marking the bounds
of penny ante
spin.
He's winding up,
sweet mark dangling.
Then she curls in,
and Sawyer can hear
Luck
tapping her foot,
impatient even as she
opens that strongbox,
and tells him to not
take the wrong turn
at Albuquerque.
~~~~ ~~ ~~~~