Pretending to Sleep (v. 2)

Tags

poetry

The air was stale beneath the blanket

My mom had crocheted

There were hearts on it

But the air –

It was cold as it tickled my face

I couldn’t twitch my nose

I had to lie

Still

The sounds weren’t still

I could hear my sister’s breathing

Steady and even

It took eight lullabies

To put her to sleep tonight

I could hear the television

Blaring game show network downstairs

I think it was Match Game

The radiator was crackling

Blasting warm air into the chill

And I could hear his footsteps

Coming up the stairs

The tread was uneven

He went over to the old white dresser

The broken drawer from a former tantrum

Squeaking as he opened it

I could imagine the mirror reflecting

His dark, dark hair and swarthy skin

I knew he could see my books on the floor

My secret yellow notebook was exposed

The heavy tread again

Coming towards my bed

All I could see was blackness

I couldn’t open my eyes

I forced my breathing to sound

Steady and even

He touched my shoulder

And a tear trickled down my cheek

Pretending to Sleep (v. 1)

Tags

poetry, writing

The air was stale beneath the blankets
But cold as it tickled my face
I couldn’t twitch my nose
I had to lie still

The sounds weren’t still
I could hear my sister’s breathing
Steady and even
I could hear the television
Blaring game show network downstairs
The radiator was crackling
Blasting warm air into the chill
And I could hear his footsteps
Coming up the stairs
The tread was uneven

He went over to the dresser
The broken drawer from a former tantrum
Squeaking as he opened it
I knew he could see my books on the floor
My secret yellow notebook was exposed

The heavy tread again
Coming towards my bed
All I could see was blackness
I couldn’t open my eyes
I forced my breathing to sound steady
And even
He touched my shoulder
And I felt a tear trickle down my cheek

The Meaning of It

Ding dong                                                     

The witch is dead

We all thought she lived

to be a villain

Perhaps, not so

Sometimes these things are not

so easy to understand

Flying like a fury                                          

She would soar through storms                 

Unabated

Telling her tale

Casting her spells

Felling heroes

Or were they villains

Who was she, this witch

Witch

Such a word – implying all

the bad

the brutal

the beastliness

the debauchery

But we forget

Glinda is a witch,

too

 

This is a poem I wrote for my Creative Writing class at UMass. Yes, I’m at UMass now, and it’s simply amazing. I love no longer being at MIT; it wasn’t the right fit for me.  I’ll be revising this poem, adding some more details, hopefully. It was influenced by Stephen Schwartz’ Wicked, one of my favorite musicals.