a little something I wrote for Creative Writing
AMELIA
I remember Texas summers
with Daddy's pond out back.
Copper waters rustled beneath cerulean sky
and apples baked in the sun.
The planks of that old rickety dock bit
the soles of my feet
and Pidge would thread her fingers through mine,
her nails pressed into the thickness of my palm.
One...
Two...
never could wait for the final count.
Slipping from her grasp, I would slam into
that golden coolness.
I was a cannonball sinking to the murky bottom.
I remember being in love
at the Long Beach Air Show.
Sitting on a patch of earth,
the grass tickling the undersides of my knees.
Bobby Tisdale
his hand on the small of my back
his fingers drawing circles on my rib cage.
He was fresh soap,
licorice
and mint.
That stunt driver loved to have his fun
scaring kids off of that field
and the metal, crimson bird dove for us.
Bobby let me go
and threw himself
down.
I arched my neck back,
ready to stand my ground,
and felt those icy splinters
of fear
and excitement
sink beneath my skin.
Sweet
intoxication
I remember how it all began.
Eden was an earthly paradise
and Eve was never meant
to take flight,
but I held fast
to that blue expanse
and waded through
Atlantic breeze.
It was foolish,
the wish of a contemporary Phaëton,
to believe those reigns were meant for
my small hands,
that the night sky could never
burn.
I remember how it came to an end.
Fred could always read the stars,
but the velvet black,
in a fit of hunger,
had swallowed the milky beads.
The night was still
except for the static
of a broken radio
and Fred's curses.
We circled that sky
as we sank.
A distant siren's song
pulled us back
with heavy hands
mountains of salt and midnight.
I remember catching
his dark eyes
with mine
his calloused hand
with mine.
I promised not to let go.
One...
Two...
I remember Texas summers
with Daddy's pond out back.
Copper waters rustled beneath cerulean sky
and apples baked in the sun.
The planks of that old rickety dock bit
the soles of my feet
and Pidge would thread her fingers through mine,
her nails pressed into the thickness of my palm.
One...
Two...
never could wait for the final count.
Slipping from her grasp, I would slam into
that golden coolness.
I was a cannonball sinking to the murky bottom.
I remember being in love
at the Long Beach Air Show.
Sitting on a patch of earth,
the grass tickling the undersides of my knees.
Bobby Tisdale
his hand on the small of my back
his fingers drawing circles on my rib cage.
He was fresh soap,
licorice
and mint.
That stunt driver loved to have his fun
scaring kids off of that field
and the metal, crimson bird dove for us.
Bobby let me go
and threw himself
down.
I arched my neck back,
ready to stand my ground,
and felt those icy splinters
of fear
and excitement
sink beneath my skin.
Sweet
intoxication
I remember how it all began.
Eden was an earthly paradise
and Eve was never meant
to take flight,
but I held fast
to that blue expanse
and waded through
Atlantic breeze.
It was foolish,
the wish of a contemporary Phaëton,
to believe those reigns were meant for
my small hands,
that the night sky could never
burn.
I remember how it came to an end.
Fred could always read the stars,
but the velvet black,
in a fit of hunger,
had swallowed the milky beads.
The night was still
except for the static
of a broken radio
and Fred's curses.
We circled that sky
as we sank.
A distant siren's song
pulled us back
with heavy hands
mountains of salt and midnight.
I remember catching
his dark eyes
with mine
his calloused hand
with mine.
I promised not to let go.
One...
Two...