Young Writers Society

14
Saint Justin*

He whimpers into their stone ears,
two months
in the foetal position
at God's feet
Ten hands outstretched
to him
but he saws off his own right hand
and smiles.
He whispers into their stone ears



*There's something here to be written...but I'm having trouble shaping it. This is one I really hope to come back to, because there's something there. Maybe I need some distance from the fact first.

15

The Tin Man
All that's left below the German skin
is broken bones and a shrunken heart,
lying in its too-large cavity,
a piece of dried fruit he offers her.
Slurred whispers in the night
after the whiskey, women, and wine
because he knows trust will follow.
Serving coffee and conversation
she sits by, his past in her back pocket.
In her wildest dreams she would
pull out the tapestry of all his best parts,
he would turn back into a flesh and blood man.

16

Comfort Food*
Like the slice of processed packaged Velveeta cheese I ate with Italian gelato,
he is all-American right down to his baseball cleats and unusual enough to be
the ideal combo no one but crazy people could dream up--
literally off-their-rocker, lost-their-marbles, eat dry cereal, can't find the glasses on their head, too loony to be treated at a facility, Lord have mercy on us, crazy.
We are a Picasso creation jumbled and jilted and juxtaposed
into living art, turning stages into museums
and the world into a playground, where we are always trespassing.




*I hate titles.

17

Her waking dreams turn her into Rumpelstiltskin,
pulling out the sturdiest straws from the bundle
he tenuously placed in her arms,
swiftly spinning a gold tapestry of a man,
a beautiful man,
the man a young boy sees in his dreams
longs to become
until he meets her and falls in love.
He will sacrifice being a good man to become
a man who needs to be
fixed.

18

This poem won't change the world.
it draws itself from inside of me unraveling
like yarn for you to tangle yourself in kitten
playing with the words
curling and swaying, a smoky vapor
wafting from a pot of stone soup.
Sleeping on your lavender pillow conjures
dreams of sparkling shallows and shoals
by the Adriatic Sea spewing diamonds
into your calloused hands.
Words are what I would give you
in the silence that drifts between us
friendly as morning toast and starry dusk
wrapping me in soft blankets.
Gentleness can tame and calm
stormy seas and wild stallions,
wild stallions dragging my heart in front of me
until I give up the chase.

19

maybe if mommy had rocked me to sleep
when the demons visited my dreams
I could weep
in empathy
be human
I could sleep

20

maybe if mommy had rocked me to sleep
two arms around me would feel like
home would smell like
lilacs would make me
smile at his chest and home
around me two
arms on the chair
on the clock
in the gun safe
where I sit when I can't
sleep

21
Fair Trade and Organic

I was a little bit frivolous about it
my lonely inability to do anything
we spend a lot of time together, we've spent the night a few times
but it was...it...there was nothing groundbreaking.
I didn't know you had feelings for her.
I didn't either. We just spend a lot of time together and
suddenly I was just thinking, "You're kind of awesome."
I'm sure that she's living vicariously through you.
And I know all that. And I'm not mad.
I was

The ceiling paint is cracking and looks like an old opera house.
the coffee and sex are both fair trade and organic
and the conversation happens closely side by side intertwined

Did she pay off the house...she bought?
Um, but, so, she was working a lot
I told Simone about it and she told Devon and Carol and
This year finally we...all of our debt...down
On paper even with everything we put into it so far...
I didn't know you had feelings for her.
I was a little bit frivolous about it.
As a performer...well that's something.

We have more dark doorways and metal stairways up to the shack
I got the Citrus Mate
I'm a little bit leery about the sports.
It has to come from somewhere, open or closed.
They keep coffee beans on the walls

It was my first college date and it was really good
Sheba wasn't telling because we made this giant vow

Do you ever wonder if someone is eavesdropping?

That puppy of my parents is really cute but I think
Where does anyone get a puppy
Silence
Whatever
Stupid question, irrelevant

Soft chuckles and slate skies,
Bricks and berets.
It's not my life.

Don't you think it's amazing? But kind of strange.
It's so weird to become an adult, even just spending time around it...
There's little tiny differences and things I don't think about.
They use a clean towel every time they bathe.
They're just in a big pile they have so much laundry.
I use my towel until it smells bad.
It smells like mildew.
Food especially.
That's one thing I'll say, my food will never taste
That's all I knew.
I didn't know people could, like, be healthy.
My mom was raised eating fresh stuff all over the place.
But I think for older generations, older than your mom...
My favorite aunt, her mom, during the Depression she was younger.
Poor people had fresh produce because they grew it themselves,
and only wealthier people could buy produce. She'd rather eat
from cans.
Perspective.

Silence
Thinking about snapping green beans
and overnights with women.

See now if I thought you were interested in ...
we'd have some words.

Would you recognize your conversation
Recycled through 1000 people's eyes?

New things are fun.

Certain elements of conversationsound
so familiar, universally the same, I'm listening
to myself and a friend or two figuring out
all my other relationships.

Where does anybody get a puppy?

22

I have one thing left.
And it is coffee.
Black and bitter and saving my soul
at 2am when my bed is cold
my cheeks are warm
I cradle the cup and breathe steam
until my eyes water staring into
the darkness outside, in the cup, outside,
inside.
Saving my soul for the morning when
I will smile through baggy black eyes
slurp from a bowl-sized mug
and walk to the beat of coffee shop murmurings
conversations overheard and voices
in my mind
reality doesn't come until tomorrow
tomorrow does not come
And still I stand on my own two feet.
Still I swim.
Everything lost to me claws out my eyes
I bleed salt and cry blood
pick up the pieces
grind beans with finesse and pour with grace--
All they will see.
Cup after cup.

23

Pears should only be eaten soft.
Mango should only be eaten from Texas.
Eat crisp New York apples in a pile of crisp autumn leaves.
The smell of Georgia peaches drew them from
across the Atlantic
blue and green and buzzing and splashing
and the Lilacs.
Fuchsia cerulean white indigo carmine
Sweeping among the blue spruce and firs
Everything slipping up out of the umber soil
into the dreamland of Jack the bean sower
summoning the wind
to carry its viridian fragrance
blend it with baby pansies singing
together
the national anthem in a minor key.
Washington Pears fit perfectly in the hands
of Carolina golfers.
Chilean hemp hammocks cradle
the atmosphere.

24

When she was in college she would steal used books.
Used books cost 50 cents and seemed much more valuable
Slipped inside her jacket, under her scarf, into her bag
Tucked onto her shelf not to be touched for weeks on end
Until an afternoon where she needs to feel dangerous.