ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
.
i pulled a napkin from the silver tin,
wiped the table clear, drops of ketchup staining the center.
i crushed the paper in my palm, felt the dampness reach the edges.
hurt cloud, she said as i let it roll across the table.
.
shooting baskets as the day ended,
the ball went over the backboard, disappeared into the dark.
she shrugged, then bent low, picked up pebbles.
aimed
and threw.
.
your poor hands, she said. you have so many scars,
and you're still so young. (she, younger than i, saying this)
she touched one hand, then after a pause she took the other
without looking at me.
some things take so much courage.
we sat like that for a long time,
perfectly
still.
.
i passed two old women by the river.
one stopped, pulled off her shoe
and shook a pebble out.
it dropped into the water
and she continued on,
limping slightly
from the absence dented into her foot.
the other had stopped a ways ahead.
she waited and said, a pebble?
the woman nodded. her whole life
having led her there, she was carried
away again.
.
a memory: the night i was married,
while everyone danced and ate beneath the lights,
i kept my fingers on my bride's knee beneath the table.
the fabric of her dress and the skin beneath slid when i moved my hand.
her bone flashing white, her shape gathering in the hardness,
so white it ached, so hard it changed.
i covered my face with my other hand.
when she saw she put her hand on my knee
and we were really married
then.
.
my dog stopped eating, only took morsels. her ribs became prominent.
it made me wince to run my hand over the sharp ridge of her spine.
her belly grew, and became hard.
at the clinic, the vet knelt down to inspect her.
he pressed on her sides and stayed like that
for a minute. she looked at me, then stared at the floor.
there is a tumor in her abdomen, it has grown quite large.
he rose, folded his hands and spoke gently.
there is nothing we can do.
okay, i said.
something hard stuck in my throat,
kept me from swallowing.
.
there is one window i keep open no matter what.
it faces west, toward the river you can hear
but not see.
there is a row of stones on the windowsill,
small forms that are a relief, hard and anonymous
and ancient.
i sit and run my fingers back and forth over them.
they wobble and dance, then recover.
with a breeze,
the curtains open and close
around the stones i've found.
the stones i've kept
without knowing
why.
.
i pulled a napkin from the silver tin,
wiped the table clear, drops of ketchup staining the center.
i crushed the paper in my palm, felt the dampness reach the edges.
hurt cloud, she said as i let it roll across the table.
.
shooting baskets as the day ended,
the ball went over the backboard, disappeared into the dark.
she shrugged, then bent low, picked up pebbles.
aimed
and threw.
.
your poor hands, she said. you have so many scars,
and you're still so young. (she, younger than i, saying this)
she touched one hand, then after a pause she took the other
without looking at me.
some things take so much courage.
we sat like that for a long time,
perfectly
still.
.
i passed two old women by the river.
one stopped, pulled off her shoe
and shook a pebble out.
it dropped into the water
and she continued on,
limping slightly
from the absence dented into her foot.
the other had stopped a ways ahead.
she waited and said, a pebble?
the woman nodded. her whole life
having led her there, she was carried
away again.
.
a memory: the night i was married,
while everyone danced and ate beneath the lights,
i kept my fingers on my bride's knee beneath the table.
the fabric of her dress and the skin beneath slid when i moved my hand.
her bone flashing white, her shape gathering in the hardness,
so white it ached, so hard it changed.
i covered my face with my other hand.
when she saw she put her hand on my knee
and we were really married
then.
.
my dog stopped eating, only took morsels. her ribs became prominent.
it made me wince to run my hand over the sharp ridge of her spine.
her belly grew, and became hard.
at the clinic, the vet knelt down to inspect her.
he pressed on her sides and stayed like that
for a minute. she looked at me, then stared at the floor.
there is a tumor in her abdomen, it has grown quite large.
he rose, folded his hands and spoke gently.
there is nothing we can do.
okay, i said.
something hard stuck in my throat,
kept me from swallowing.
.
there is one window i keep open no matter what.
it faces west, toward the river you can hear
but not see.
there is a row of stones on the windowsill,
small forms that are a relief, hard and anonymous
and ancient.
i sit and run my fingers back and forth over them.
they wobble and dance, then recover.
with a breeze,
the curtains open and close
around the stones i've found.
the stones i've kept
without knowing
why.
.
Literature
Welcome
I'm ready for a romance to ravage my heart and tear apart my
dusty limbs, I'm waiting for someone to take my breath and
never give it back; I'm prepared to sell all I was for a trip
somewhere new - beyond the paper mistakes I sailed away
down the river long ago. (even rocks and leaden thoughts
won't let the truth sink.)
I left my being somewhere under a waning summer sun
when the trees hummed melodies of moving on;
my soul still stays there, porous and pining and
lost. Dying stars don't lead home.
I suppose
it's more than just losing
your words, it's losing
you
too.
I am someone who mourns Sunday morning for another lost
w
Literature
biopsy
put me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart,
slice open my chest,
peel back the skin keeping me whole,
they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking.
(they would not find anything,
but they would have to say they did.
after all, girls can't live without a heart.
they forget that i'm not the first:
a score of girls walking even though
they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly,
a shield around my lungs.
(a cage, keeping my breath from bursting
out of my skin. know that this is just me,
held together by nature,
unable to lose control of myself.)
c.
Literature
Reddist
Before you, there were women
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
Apples became
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
sometimes things get so hard you can feel their shape, the weight of them, the way things form around them.
sometimes all you're walking on are memories.
sometimes all you're walking on are memories.
© 2012 - 2024 Anthony-Ryan
Comments28
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
This is amazing.