thesilentpoet: (Default)
[personal profile] thesilentpoet posting in [community profile] poetree
The companion poem to this Lior's Dream. It crosses Schrodinger's Heroes, and my original series, 64-squared. It's being posted as part of the week's DIY Serial Poetry Challenge.


Hal's Nightmare

I meet them the night before I run away.
They do not ask questions; who I am,
why I am; how I am. Ex-security found me,
noticed the coin I wore around neck,
Oh,” she says, “your sister was here;
she’s looking for you
.”

It’s they, who notice,
the signature attached to my psyche,
pulse and heart still beating,
tangible touch still warm.
I do not understand.

It aches,” one named Alex notes,
It is alive, rightly so,” Ash agrees,
and I’m left wondering. I feel woozy
where I stand, uncertain in my stance.
How did I get here? I ask, and Alex -
she looks at me strangely.
Why, you walked here,
did you not mean -? We can help
.”

Walked. Walking.
What am I, I want to say,
but the ground reaches up
to meet me, her long arms
as if to strangle, and helpfully,
I lie down.

I come to in a bed,
comfortable; the girl who found me -
she sits close. Sits straight when she
notices I wake. “I’m Kay."
Hal, I answer.
She nods, “I know.”

I have too many questions to ask,
how does she know? How do they know?
Where am I? And how do they know my sister?
Know my sister when I do not,
did not even know my sister was alive?
Is - is my sister looking for me, I whisper.

Kay touches my shoulder. "Yes.”
The world spins in that instance,
and I find myself in my bedroom,
hands and knees on the floor,
crouched as if I am still in pain - I am.
My head and heart hurt, and I vomit
into the carpet - the world, the spin, the heat -
it all splinters through my bones,
tears through my muscles. I feel cleansed.

Below, I can hear my adoptive parents
whistling as they cook - dinner? Breakfast?
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath,
grab a backpack, and slip out the window.

My sister is out there,
and with it, everything I do not know,
about her, about my family;
myself.

Profile

poetree: Paper sculpture of bulbuous tree made from strips of book pages (Default)
POETREE

February 2017

S M T W T F S
   1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728    

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Feb. 22nd, 2019 11:03 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios