bad stars are cold topography
So another thousand words into the Catholic schoolgirls story and yeah, that third section is from a different story entirely. Sigh. Also! What the HELL was I thinking with this casefile I threw in? That has to be stripped out as well, as it is tonally inappropriate as background for Dean's ridiculous teenage sexing. I think the casefile and the third section fit together, so they should be their own story, but now I have to come up with something else to wrap this sucker up, and also as a reason for the Winchesters to be there in the first place.
Stupid brain. Stupid writing. Stupid plot.
Have a poem:
Lantana
Bad stars are cold topography, I live there.
The earth turns the color of trailing lantana.
Remember the red diary, mother, the sooted addiction to sex?
Bad, blathering thing, your daughter deep in her fret of blossom.
I hid between flowers on the yellow wallpaper, waiting and staring,
Scissors on hair unlocked as you refused to give in.
We had potato latkes, noodle pudding so rich its sugar
Tinged the tablecloth I made in Art with ruby bloodlines.
Your voice hit the porch like vees of gulls.
I sat there and rocked, inhaling a stolen Winston.
Nicotine bloated the floorboards, stained the mint green paint
I saw my dead father's hands holding a smoke.
Look, daughter, he cried. I left what unsettles me
to come here, lowdown where your uncured stems root,
I saw the future, an Indian-named lake I could drown in.
This omen is so bad, I want it stark
The way you turned dead, I was not let down easy.
Your body bathed and visited, I could not bear to know!
Remember how I danced on the porch to Baby, Baby, can't you Hear my Heart Beat?
You and I, Dad, away and apt, letting go, taking the sky like a tonic,
Rain jabbing holes in the forsythia, and boys in Levis
Passed by on the street, their eyes on me converted
To a species of piranha, how after the shear imitation of weather,
You loved off my doll's hair, forced her hold to let go
You recited a poem - Though nothing can bring back the hour
I know the rest says don't grieve, but let me go slowly
Perhaps we could dig dirt in the garden, pick the poison
Lantana with both our hands, fetching it to mother.
~Nanette Rayman Rivera
from Lily Lit Review
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/124050.html.
people have commented there.
Stupid brain. Stupid writing. Stupid plot.
Have a poem:
Lantana
Bad stars are cold topography, I live there.
The earth turns the color of trailing lantana.
Remember the red diary, mother, the sooted addiction to sex?
Bad, blathering thing, your daughter deep in her fret of blossom.
I hid between flowers on the yellow wallpaper, waiting and staring,
Scissors on hair unlocked as you refused to give in.
We had potato latkes, noodle pudding so rich its sugar
Tinged the tablecloth I made in Art with ruby bloodlines.
Your voice hit the porch like vees of gulls.
I sat there and rocked, inhaling a stolen Winston.
Nicotine bloated the floorboards, stained the mint green paint
I saw my dead father's hands holding a smoke.
Look, daughter, he cried. I left what unsettles me
to come here, lowdown where your uncured stems root,
I saw the future, an Indian-named lake I could drown in.
This omen is so bad, I want it stark
The way you turned dead, I was not let down easy.
Your body bathed and visited, I could not bear to know!
Remember how I danced on the porch to Baby, Baby, can't you Hear my Heart Beat?
You and I, Dad, away and apt, letting go, taking the sky like a tonic,
Rain jabbing holes in the forsythia, and boys in Levis
Passed by on the street, their eyes on me converted
To a species of piranha, how after the shear imitation of weather,
You loved off my doll's hair, forced her hold to let go
You recited a poem - Though nothing can bring back the hour
I know the rest says don't grieve, but let me go slowly
Perhaps we could dig dirt in the garden, pick the poison
Lantana with both our hands, fetching it to mother.
~Nanette Rayman Rivera
from Lily Lit Review
***
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/124050.html.
people have commented there.