Schrodinger's Heroes: All Politics Is Local

[primeideal]

Following on from yesterday's poem, this installment takes us into the profane world of @MayorEmanuel. This was a fake Twitter account mocking Rahm Emanuel's run for mayor of Chicago, accompanied by his loyal companions, Carl the Intern and Quaxelrod the Duck. At the end of the saga, Rahm was transported into a portal back to the correct timeline, cussing all the way.

( All Politics Is Local )

Lior's Dream

[thesilentpoet]

The companion poem to this Hal's Nightmare. 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.

Lior's Dream

Lior’s studies took her any number
of unusual places, although her
research into particle specifics
of physics was the more normal
of any. She spent many days
bent over materials, under
Alex’s watchful eye.
She never did go into much detail,
of course, but this was a team,
who was used to the strange.

She started sneaking in
biscuits from her world
for Tim the Tentacle Monster,
once she realized he
was not so much a monster
as an overgrown puppy
with too many arms.
She spent hours here
and there
with Ash, Bailey, and Morgan,
smoothing out the kinks
in her theories.
No one asked how
she had got there.

This was her dream,
she realized,
to have a team
like this one,
to learn, to love, to laugh
with your family,

but this was not her team.
These were not her heroes,
and she had her demons
to fight.

Hal's Nightmare

[thesilentpoet]

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.