suicidal ideation

suicidal ideation

You rest your hand flat on the pool's tiled wall, and push down-- that is, up, action and reaction, parallel forces-- until your swollen toes brush the rough bottom where the concrete has been stained blue in places by chlorine, like the dyed shell of an Easter egg, and the briefly-broken surface of the water closes over your head. On the underside of that surface the layer of taut water molecules makes a better mirror than on the upper because here, in the under space, there is no second sun to turn it transparent: and though it is full of dips and swells, this mirror never vanishes, no matter how you roll, back and forth, your small compact body supported by viscosity and the tight curl of your feet, barely bearing your reduced weight. If the moon were paved with mercury, coated with quicksilver as overripe strawberries are with chocolate to hide the softness, it would make the same kind of mirror that this is: scarred and hollowed out in places, with a topography that twists the light. And it twists you, it does, your reflection slides back and forth, ribbed with ripples; and it is still, for all that, hanging inches from your upturned face, always, staring down through its goggles, which are yours only smeared around the frames. (Yours, although unsmeared, do not quite fit your skull. It is something to do with the strap chafing at the nape of your neck. Any minute now you will feel the water beginning to seep in under the rubber seal, into the sockets, stinging tender flesh and tenderer cornea, and then you will climb out. You will wipe it, the water, from your lashes and your ears, and you will not flinch from the direct sun on your wet skin, or your friends' high unbroken voices. Until then,) suspended in the heavy, bent, liquid light, you are glad of the company: you breathe out with loving care, leaking air through a calculated loosening of the lower lip, and watch the bubbles rise to punch small holes in your unlikely, unlovely, unsuspecting second self.

summer-itchy eyes
see the future: see rainbows
wrapped around white lights.


*

Gorsh, but haibun are even harder than idiotic rhyme schemes.

Raise your hand if you think 'summer' counts as a seasonal identifier!

(Hint: I'm raising my hand really hard.)

Mickey, one of the things that I admire most about you is your willingness to experiment with new forms of poetry -- even to the detriment of your own pleasure and sanity. Either that, or these are all school assignments, and in which case, you're still pretty cool. Haibuns, huh. I read that as "hair-buns" first. I looked it up.

I like this. I like this for the same reason that I like your poetry in general: you have a way of turning the mundane and everyday, into the profound and rare. Now, "suicidal ideation" may not be mundane and everyday, but its setting is -- a bathtub, in swimming goggles. I imagine this in a quiet suburbia. I can't tell the age of the individual, but I got the distinct vibe that the character is young -- even grade school age, which adds an interesting twist to things, from my point of view. When I was younger, around age five or six, I had "suicidal ideations" I suppose. For instance, one day, I wrapped the strings that you use to pull up windowshades around my neck a couple times, climbed to the top of the couch, and jumped...Of course, I ripped the shades off the window. But the point is, I had no idea what I was doing. I got a similar feeling here. A child, not knowing quite what they're doing, but knowing that this feeling is both wrong, and strangely euphoric. You've managed to blend some interesting themes here, if that was your intention.

I think that the only proper prose poem I've read might have been posted by Cade or Bubblewrapped. This was refreshing. I liked it a lot. Your language is great (where concrete has been stained blue in places by chlorine, like a dyed Easter egg/ You breathe out with loving care, leaking air through a calculated loosening of the lower lip). Great stuff. That easter egg simile is wonderful, but my first impression was that it didn't fit. It was a little jarring. Keep an eye on that and don't be afraid to murder your darlings if necessary.

-Kylan

I DO like how you tried something new here! However, it was a bit hard to follow, as I couldn't really understand what this girl was doing. Perhaps you could make it more obvous? Anyway, keep it up! Kim

This was very good. What I liked the most was even though "suicidal ideation" was saturated with descriptions, they are not the static sort, not at all still life. These descriptions are dynamic pictures that are connected in interesting ways, with an equally fascinating subject matter. Also what stood out was your precision and unusual use of language. You had lovely phrases, nothing particularly overwrought, but what is praiseworthy is that a thought, an idea, was the driving force.

Thanks for sharing this with us. A "like–it", for sure.

–antimelrose