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Jun 2015
I am but

a nesting doll, the outermost encasement
chipped from years of fumbling awkwardness, or purposeful
nicked and scratched by ***** hands pulsating unsteadily
growing impatient in
attempting to reach the innermost layer
the consolation for hard work and determination

the drool on your collar after the too-long, too-soon snooze on the bus
when you missed your stop and any of the alternates to reach the ultimate destination
a rotten half-eaten apple on hiatus from mouths trying to push away the impending scolding from doctors and dentists
who knew it had already been too late to make significant enough change
to prevent disease

the cigarette **** snuffed out by New Year's Resolutions
and good riddance

I am, by no particular consensus or consent

a small chime, at half-past nine from the old grandfather clock out of sync with the natural order of things
that cannot project its sound too far, but persists in stubborn hostility
not a blaring warning or reminder
but an insignificant tick and
a sad little attempt at notification

a faint headache
a dying balloon
a cry in the night when everyone is listening to radio shows
or the kind of opera that pierces the skull
futile and distant, muted
unspoken for

I am also, surprisingly,

the feeling you get before crossing the train tracks into new territory
or climbing the stairs after months of elevator riding due to the injury you'd incurred trying to prove to them you didn't have two left feet

the notion that time stands at the forefront
and the line of fire is a black hole
where warped memories are welcomed in hasty pleas

I am

a whisper of defeat when the pine trees collapsed in the middle of that summer upheaval, steaming and desperate
and out for the politics
turned into the
knotty pine paneled walls
that DIYers frown upon

But I am especially
the pearl of an oyster
gouged out
and taken to
someone who could decipher worth of shiny, iridescent things...its clarity, salability
a pearl now on a strand of comrades—lifeless pearls
in Chinatown, under the ruse of glamour and bargaining chips and great steals

certainly on clearance
and pushed on the people as inconvenience
a misuse of table space
and getting one-overs
or semi-precious insults
from tourists
who guffawed
at the feeble attempt
to turn a profit

eventually to be
tossed with slightly bitter nonchalance
into a black garbage bag,
thrown onto the sidewalk
and feasted upon by
seasonally elephantine rats
as they swallow the waste
from careless excess
and plastic soul collectors

it's true that
I am,
with disdain,
especially and most certainly,
that pearl
wolf mother
Written by
wolf mother
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