Last straw.

Today’s Poetic Asides prompt is to write a “last straw” poem. At first I wasn’t sure what to do with that, couldn’t think of any time when I felt something had reached that kind of critical mass. That’s silly, of course, as there must be so many. Still.

I started trying to write something despite myself, but that was a losing battle. And then …

Tried
to write
you tonight.
Number-playing,
your low, Irish creme
voice,
yellow
clogs, Motown
swagger — music
dripping like rich, thick,
sweet
honey.
I wanted
to find you here,
tip of my pen.

Found
instead
your ugly,
casual slights,
disregard, disdain.
Saw
myself,
turning back
to you — one time,
again. And again.
Need
calling,
pushing me,
shaping my thoughts,
saying you were love.

Found
instead
your closed hand,
love of power,
your sharp, cutting tongue.
Went
back once,
and again.
Willfully blind
and imagining
hope,
children,
a future.
Finding you — your
threat wrapped in velvet.

Okay, this one is driving me crazy.  There was, of course, a last straw.  But I’m stopping before I get there.  Yes, this is the control freak behavior that a certain VONA workshop leader accused me of: forcing the piece to end before it’s actually finished.  Feh.  I don’t want to be writing a long, LONG piece about this man, this relationship.  So this will stop.  On to the next.

natpoetrymonth1

Please consider donating to my indiegogo campaign to support my participation in the VONA Voices graphic novel workshop this summer.  “Support” can be as simple and cost-free as sending the Indiegogo link out to your friends and telling them why they might want to help me get to VONA.  Any and all help is appreciated.  To date, I’ve received almost half my goal amount! I am encouraged and humbled by everyone’s generosity.  Thank you all!

__________

An Arun is a 15-line poem with the syllable count 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x.  It may be a new thing in the world, made up by me last year.  “Arun” means “five” in Yoruba.

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3 thoughts on “Last straw.

  1. I know exactly what the VONA workshop leader was talking about. I feel it myself in my own writing, closing my notebook even when I know there’s more there. it’s the missing movement from thought to action. Is it control? or is it fear? and if fear, fear of what — of consequences?

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