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#sedan
Walking on top of muddy grass I head to my car Open my rear car door and I see shambles mountain. Papers fall from my backpack gum wrappers sprawl out Half-empty plastic water bottles on the floor I throw all the trash into a white plastic bag As I dump the filth into the bag my clothes appear Underneath the heap of unwashed clothing Lies a bible in the backseat of my sedan Its blue paperback cover is bent out of shape Crumbly creased pages fan out like clipped angel wings The book has sunk into the grey lumpy leather Dust coats the molded edges of the scuffed pages I pick up the book and clean it’s raggedy cover With the bottom of my white-t shirt, now it looks fine Flipping through each of the old pages I wonder Why did I leave it in the backseat of my car? I look at the disorganized landscape and sigh It all comes back to me as I rub on the binding Up and down on the tattered spine, I see my church Inside the church laying on a tabletop counter Is the backseat bible, my hand grabs it and I leave. Both church and daydream, the book sits softly in my hands All of a sudden my cell-phone plays an oldie I’m late for the movies with my friends, I close the door Jumping into the front seat I tell them I’ll be late My seatbelt wraps around my body clicking in In the passenger seat I place my bible beside me I pull out of my driveway, and drive in a new direction
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Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
dannyartreads
Backseat Bible
Walking on top of muddy grass I head to my car Open my rear car door and I see shambles mountain. Papers fall from my backpack gum wrappers sprawl out Half-empty plastic water bottles on the floor I throw all the trash into a white plastic bag As I dump the filth into the bag my clothes appear Underneath the heap of unwashed clothing Lies a bible in the backseat of my sedan Its blue paperback cover is bent out of shape Crumbly creased pages fan out like clipped angel wings The book has sunk into the grey lumpy leather Dust coats the molded edges of the scuffed pages I pick up the book and clean it’s raggedy cover With the bottom of my white-t shirt, now it looks fine Flipping through each of the old pages I wonder Why did I leave it in the backseat of my car? I look at the disorganized landscape and sigh It all comes back to me as I rub on the binding Up and down on the tattered spine, I see my church Inside the church laying on a tabletop counter Is the backseat bible, my hand grabs it and I leave. Both church and daydream, the book sits softly in my hands All of a sudden my cell-phone plays an oldie I’m late for the movies with my friends, I close the door Jumping into the front seat I tell them I’ll be late My seatbelt wraps around my body clicking in In the passenger seat I place my bible beside me I pull out of my driveway, and drive in a new direction
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28
“Love is short, forgetting is so long.” –Pablo Neruda close your eyes, keep them closed. take an ice pick and blind yourself to any reminders of his flyaway hair or wrinkled jeans. pour antifreeze on the memory of the way he used to stroke your arm before the kiss, and the cauliflower soup he brought over when your dog was hit by a car, and your eyes were swollen shut from crying, and you wouldn’t get out of bed. Keep a bottle of ***** nearby to numb the area as you carve yourself into a shape he hasn’t seen, skin he hasn’t touched. don’t breathe until you’ve lost enough brain cells to feel something again. when you no longer see him in the face of the cashier at the supermarket, when you no longer recognize your reflection in the tinted windows of an all-too-familiar white sedan, you’ll know that you’ve finally done something right.
0
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
weakteawithcream
Creating a Spotless Mind
“Love is short, forgetting is so long.” –Pablo Neruda close your eyes, keep them closed. take an ice pick and blind yourself to any reminders of his flyaway hair or wrinkled jeans. pour antifreeze on the memory of the way he used to stroke your arm before the kiss, and the cauliflower soup he brought over when your dog was hit by a car, and your eyes were swollen shut from crying, and you wouldn’t get out of bed. Keep a bottle of ***** nearby to numb the area as you carve yourself into a shape he hasn’t seen, skin he hasn’t touched. don’t breathe until you’ve lost enough brain cells to feel something again. when you no longer see him in the face of the cashier at the supermarket, when you no longer recognize your reflection in the tinted windows of an all-too-familiar white sedan, you’ll know that you’ve finally done something right.
Continue reading...
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