Thursday, February 24, 2005

The Tempest

slow motion
heart pounding
sweaty, shaky fingers dialing my father

A mistake realized is a heavy rock
that hurts when it hits the bottom.
(Fight of flight is not a decision)
Wanting to run, but "Wait! He's my brother!"
casts concentric circles
in the pond of my mind,
as the mistake sinks
deeper...
deeper.
Stopping,
I face Tyson.
I want to laugh because he looks so funny
when he's angry.
(Tyson disappears)
His shell punches me in the head.
(The shell of a man is no less strong than anger)
My throbbing head feels no pain.
I dive into Tyson's waist
for protection.
I'm angry. I'm scared.

A storm is invented,
producing bowling-ball sized hail
crashing down on my back.
"If I play dead, the storm will stop."
"Where's Tyson? Why won't he shelter me from this storm?"
(Wrath)
Instead,
the storm rises from the ground
kicking me in the stomach.
(Shoes hurt)
I want to throw-up blood,
so it will stop. "Will I die?"

Silence
(The storm has stopped)
I want Tyson to pick me up.
I don't think he's coming back.
(It's dark)
I can't tell if my eyes are open or not.
I want to drive home
to Ellen.
I can't see.
I can't remember the drive.
(Ellen is crying)
I can't hear myself.
Ellen doctors my wounds,
while I wonder
what happened to my brother.

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