2004-06-09
She Doesn't Understand
hearing: nothing
reading: Middlemarch by George Eliot, Sonnets by Shakespeare
wearing: capri jeans, shirt, belt, hemp bracelet, ring, and my sister's burgandy/red cheapy homemade cloak type thing (a squarish piece of fabric with a sad, more than half gone hem and a button with a buttonhole)
Mind blowing...powerful and beautiful...so he said of my poetry.
I miss him too.
A small girl sat out in the middle of the large, cool surface of a trampoline, in the midst of a small yard of bright, green, overgrown grass.
The sky was filled to the brim with dark storm clouds, but the sun still peeked through and shone brightly on the small girl's upturned face and eyes screwed tightly shut against this blinding brightness.
She lowered her head, and blinked her eyes back open, and stared off to the many houses in the horizon, but not really seeing any.
For her heart felt as dark as the sky.
The wind stirred up and blew her long loose locks all about her face, shading it and shadowing it from any passers by. And sometimes it would blow more directly in her face, and blow away the hair, and cool her hot, flushed forehead.
The wind scudded the clouds in front of the sun, glooming the day, but just as quickly whirled them on and the sun shone forth again.
Presently, the clouds in the sky, finally loosened their heavy burdens, just a little, and droplets of water came dripping down from the expansive murk above. The wind picked up these droplets and threw them against the face of the girl, where they were welcomed, and drunk up with a hungry despair.
She turned her face full force into the tiny droplets, and her eyes begin to gather the rain.
Or perhaps the rain came from within, for next she knew, there was more water in her eyes, and streaming from them, then there was coming out of the sky.
Hot salty rivulets. Shook off. Swallowed down with the sobs choked in her throat, on her tongue, on her lips.
And the scant rain died down, and as did her tears, for she restrained them.
She sat, with one fist clenched tightly, the other hand loose and open. Staring off again. Inhaling the delicious scent of rain on the air, and a cool wind in her face, but spoiled, by the storm in her heart.
She wanted to yell. To scream. To call out to the blistering beauty about her.
But instead she whispered it.
What's wrong? I only want to understand myself. My feelings.
Tears trembled in her eyes again, as her lips did the same, holding back all else she would say. She dashed her eyes across the sky, and threw her dejection at the wind, then shut her eyes, then opened them, turned away, and left her gentle respite.
Cause she only wants to understand herself. She always does...why not this time...