Poetry: "Finder/Keeper", Sawyer, [Lost]
Title: Finder/Keeper
Character/s: Sawyer, Jack [mentioned]
Rating: Er... PG?
A/N: An offering for Her Majesty,
inthekeyofd , who decreed today the day of white dress shirt offerings. May this bring the Queen pleasure.
*curtseys*
****
Finder/Keeper
White flashes,
a signal flare amidst crushed green.
Shine beckons; he cannot leave it alone.
Sawyer hesitates,
the scavenger pull tugging him into a crouch.
Pinch of thumb and forefinger, and then
the abandoned toll is collected,
dropped into his palm.
It’s a button, perfect pearly circle with four holes, even-spaced;
a treatise on equilibrium.
Sawyer scowls.
His first thought-
Jack established the trail, this white blaze
more compassionate than stripped bark.
The revisionist tale comes as he shakes hair out of his eyes-
Jack is unraveling, the mask cracked and crumbling.
Even pearls are cast away.
The button does not wink from the center of his palm,
it watches, the stare blank, expectant.
Sawyer sees the dangling thread,
loosened cuff, an obvious fray.
Comet-tailed thought-
Jack staring at Sawyer’s hand, button offered;
surprise a fleeting light pushing accusation aside.
But gratitude is brief.
Sawyer slips aside, evading an invisible yoke.
He keeps moving, denies lengthening strides
the label of evasive action.
The moon-face disc slides along his fingers.
Tick, tick, tick;
mother-of-pearl striking fingernails,
a metronome demanding decision.
Sawyer settles on a plan
before he reaches the hatch’s concrete threshold.
Fingers brush denim as Sawyer secrets
his latest acquisition in his watch pocket.
Moving down through the cool dark,
he heads towards the shower,
ignoring the faint clatter of computer keys.
Sawyer now has his own button to tend.
****
Character/s: Sawyer, Jack [mentioned]
Rating: Er... PG?
A/N: An offering for Her Majesty,
inthekeyofd , who decreed today the day of white dress shirt offerings. May this bring the Queen pleasure.
*curtseys*
****
Finder/Keeper
White flashes,
a signal flare amidst crushed green.
Shine beckons; he cannot leave it alone.
Sawyer hesitates,
the scavenger pull tugging him into a crouch.
Pinch of thumb and forefinger, and then
the abandoned toll is collected,
dropped into his palm.
It’s a button, perfect pearly circle with four holes, even-spaced;
a treatise on equilibrium.
Sawyer scowls.
His first thought-
Jack established the trail, this white blaze
more compassionate than stripped bark.
The revisionist tale comes as he shakes hair out of his eyes-
Jack is unraveling, the mask cracked and crumbling.
Even pearls are cast away.
The button does not wink from the center of his palm,
it watches, the stare blank, expectant.
Sawyer sees the dangling thread,
loosened cuff, an obvious fray.
Comet-tailed thought-
Jack staring at Sawyer’s hand, button offered;
surprise a fleeting light pushing accusation aside.
But gratitude is brief.
Sawyer slips aside, evading an invisible yoke.
He keeps moving, denies lengthening strides
the label of evasive action.
The moon-face disc slides along his fingers.
Tick, tick, tick;
mother-of-pearl striking fingernails,
a metronome demanding decision.
Sawyer settles on a plan
before he reaches the hatch’s concrete threshold.
Fingers brush denim as Sawyer secrets
his latest acquisition in his watch pocket.
Moving down through the cool dark,
he heads towards the shower,
ignoring the faint clatter of computer keys.
Sawyer now has his own button to tend.
****