There's Still Coal Somewhere by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
There's Still Coal Somewhere
We folks have been living in West Virginia our whole lives. I remembered my brothers and I driving too fast in cars and motorcycles. We’d use to race each other to the springs and then search for fairy stones. Our family still worked in the mountains. Then things were changin’, and we couldn’t drive no more. The other folk, they looked down on coal. They watched the black snakes slither out of our chimneys. Sometimes the police comes and they told us the world’s dying and we can’t be doing this no more. But in winter, we felt safe. No police would come to the coal mines then. There’s ice on steep roads. Th
mrs. hot chilli peppers by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
mrs. hot chilli peppers
i called her hot chilli peppers
because i believed she could breathe fire
and singe my homework with her long red nails.
now a decade later
i wonder if it was her illness that made her retire
and not the plague of prayers upset students sent her
over all those years.
i wonder if she will remember the year
her homeroom was vandalised
or how she taunted me in the corner of a classroom.
i am not brave enough to ask if those losing memories
lose it backwards
or if it all goes and snippets stay.
i hope she loses the things that made her so callous
and remembers me as the girl
who smiled on the first day of class
raised my hand
and asked her what
the smell of oranges reminds me of my sister
digging her thumb into its flesh
eyes wild with excitement
as she sees she can peel its skin
and that it is sweet and slightly sour
and she is proud her small hands reap rewards
as i too smile
it is wonderful
how food reminds you of what love and life is
as i reach for my own and peel it much more elegantly
i tell my sister it is all about experience
as i am older
and i do not tell her if the orange will grow more sour or sweet
or that there are other oranges like clementines or kumquats
for now we sit by the table
and breathe
Jaws and the Mighty Love Bite by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
Jaws and the Mighty Love Bite
Maybe the reason I wonder if I’m different is because no one ever stays the same. Sure, Heather’s still popular and she’s still dating Oakleaf’s version of Tom Brady, but one of these days David’s going to get fat and Heather’s going to turn in her pom poms for a baby stroller.
Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever replace something all encompassing for a new identity. When my mother got married, she cut her hair and told me she didn’t need the hassle anymore. I couldn’t imagine giving up books, but then again, David probably can’t imagine a life without football either.
This afternoon, I w
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War
Dear William, when you warned people with that runaway star, no one noticed. Part of you died when you hurdled towards the Earth. In wartime, everyone loses part of themselves. My father fought for the next great war until his legs gave out. I don’t know if he ever killed someone, but I imagine a field of corpses and the smell of defecation would at least change a person. He never mentions it, except late at night, when we both look at the sky and watch you. He knew which way to go when fighting because he’d watch your stars and you’d keep him from danger. I’ll never forget that. His face was battered and grateful when
The Red Sun Is All We See by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
The Red Sun Is All We See
For fourteen minutes, I had let the world know I was a dancer. Everyone in my town had been told to come to the grand exhibition hall. I imagined them descending down to the building’s entrance. I wanted to see their faces as they sat down on carpeted seats and waited for the showcase to start. Outside the announcements played and encouraged people to their seats. The whole world was watching us, someone whispered to me. They’ve got us streaming online.
Only the most gifted women were allowed to be in the showcase and I was the youngest there. We wore makeup and dressed in vibrant colors. Somewhere my parents were watching. They&
It’s been raining since Saturday and the water has started pooling where the blood used to be. Cassius tells me that at the end of Baker Street, Old Mary Ann has stopped selling us uncooked meat. Out of stock, she says. Cassius won’t tell me if she was bitter, if she was smiling, or if she knows who killed her husband, but I know she resents us. Today, she handed him sausages in intestine lined packaging and told him to boil it in water if he disliked it cold. Cassius mentions we’ll have to hunt more often if no one will sell to us. I tsk. I imagine her veal being turned into prepackaged burgers, selling it cheaper just to s
if i were hawaiian would i too be forgotten by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
if i were hawaiian would i too be forgotten
i was born on soil that did not belong to me
with blonde hair and blue eyes
my parents held me in hammocks
and almost named me malia
which means those white and yellow flowers
you see the natives stitching into leis
for ceremonies
and my family still does not know what privilege means
and tell me to be proud of my heritage
and tell me if we had stayed
the kids would have bullied me
what a strange thing to say
when a beheaded queen lingers in history
while tourists come
marveling at dole and the military
It had been a peaceful love. The radio remained bleating while Natasha gripped Vince’s arm, huddled underneath their home. A bomb shelter. 2300. Russians approaching any moment. Nuclear weapons imminent. Remember protocol. Remember duck and cover. Remember.
______________________________________________________________________________
The Cold War was one of intimidation, or at least, that’s what Natasha believed. Twisting the rags so that it could rid itself of food stains, she continued cleaning the dishes. Vince had a career at the capitol, and every Monday, would return home with roses and intel. Telling stories of McCarthyi
Gone: Vignettes about being remembered by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
Gone: Vignettes about being remembered
The Odyssey
Oh, how the ocean waves bash my ship, but seasickness is nothing when I feel the pain she left in my chest. Life pins me to the ground, beaching me on islands that only serve as distractions. Although I could have any goddess, it is the memory of her warm body against mine that allows me to fall asleep each night. So at midnight, I rise, taking a moment to spell her name in stars, and imagine that she’s curled up in the bed I made for her. She is the one who remembers me, despite admirers swarming her like wasps. In all my moments, the only time I could fall apart was in her arms. The waves may crash into me, and the journ
There's Still Coal Somewhere by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
There's Still Coal Somewhere
We folks have been living in West Virginia our whole lives. I remembered my brothers and I driving too fast in cars and motorcycles. We’d use to race each other to the springs and then search for fairy stones. Our family still worked in the mountains. Then things were changin’, and we couldn’t drive no more. The other folk, they looked down on coal. They watched the black snakes slither out of our chimneys. Sometimes the police comes and they told us the world’s dying and we can’t be doing this no more. But in winter, we felt safe. No police would come to the coal mines then. There’s ice on steep roads. Th
mrs. hot chilli peppers by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
mrs. hot chilli peppers
i called her hot chilli peppers
because i believed she could breathe fire
and singe my homework with her long red nails.
now a decade later
i wonder if it was her illness that made her retire
and not the plague of prayers upset students sent her
over all those years.
i wonder if she will remember the year
her homeroom was vandalised
or how she taunted me in the corner of a classroom.
i am not brave enough to ask if those losing memories
lose it backwards
or if it all goes and snippets stay.
i hope she loses the things that made her so callous
and remembers me as the girl
who smiled on the first day of class
raised my hand
and asked her what
the smell of oranges reminds me of my sister
digging her thumb into its flesh
eyes wild with excitement
as she sees she can peel its skin
and that it is sweet and slightly sour
and she is proud her small hands reap rewards
as i too smile
it is wonderful
how food reminds you of what love and life is
as i reach for my own and peel it much more elegantly
i tell my sister it is all about experience
as i am older
and i do not tell her if the orange will grow more sour or sweet
or that there are other oranges like clementines or kumquats
for now we sit by the table
and breathe
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War
Dear William, when you warned people with that runaway star, no one noticed. Part of you died when you hurdled towards the Earth. In wartime, everyone loses part of themselves. My father fought for the next great war until his legs gave out. I don’t know if he ever killed someone, but I imagine a field of corpses and the smell of defecation would at least change a person. He never mentions it, except late at night, when we both look at the sky and watch you. He knew which way to go when fighting because he’d watch your stars and you’d keep him from danger. I’ll never forget that. His face was battered and grateful when
The Red Sun Is All We See by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
The Red Sun Is All We See
For fourteen minutes, I had let the world know I was a dancer. Everyone in my town had been told to come to the grand exhibition hall. I imagined them descending down to the building’s entrance. I wanted to see their faces as they sat down on carpeted seats and waited for the showcase to start. Outside the announcements played and encouraged people to their seats. The whole world was watching us, someone whispered to me. They’ve got us streaming online.
Only the most gifted women were allowed to be in the showcase and I was the youngest there. We wore makeup and dressed in vibrant colors. Somewhere my parents were watching. They&
It’s been raining since Saturday and the water has started pooling where the blood used to be. Cassius tells me that at the end of Baker Street, Old Mary Ann has stopped selling us uncooked meat. Out of stock, she says. Cassius won’t tell me if she was bitter, if she was smiling, or if she knows who killed her husband, but I know she resents us. Today, she handed him sausages in intestine lined packaging and told him to boil it in water if he disliked it cold. Cassius mentions we’ll have to hunt more often if no one will sell to us. I tsk. I imagine her veal being turned into prepackaged burgers, selling it cheaper just to s
if i were hawaiian would i too be forgotten by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
if i were hawaiian would i too be forgotten
i was born on soil that did not belong to me
with blonde hair and blue eyes
my parents held me in hammocks
and almost named me malia
which means those white and yellow flowers
you see the natives stitching into leis
for ceremonies
and my family still does not know what privilege means
and tell me to be proud of my heritage
and tell me if we had stayed
the kids would have bullied me
what a strange thing to say
when a beheaded queen lingers in history
while tourists come
marveling at dole and the military
It had been a peaceful love. The radio remained bleating while Natasha gripped Vince’s arm, huddled underneath their home. A bomb shelter. 2300. Russians approaching any moment. Nuclear weapons imminent. Remember protocol. Remember duck and cover. Remember.
______________________________________________________________________________
The Cold War was one of intimidation, or at least, that’s what Natasha believed. Twisting the rags so that it could rid itself of food stains, she continued cleaning the dishes. Vince had a career at the capitol, and every Monday, would return home with roses and intel. Telling stories of McCarthyi
Icarus
there is a rumour that your father killed you, that
he bent your wings until they broke and then
told you, "Fly."
If this rumour is true, then it lives in the throats of
those fragile boys who wear your death like Cain's mark,
whose tender hands split like swollen tomatoes when
they pluck strangled seabirds, whose
arms slump beneath the weight of their father's genius.
And this rumour lives on
the under-skin of their eyelids so that when they die
or simply sleep
they dream of their fathers
or maybe just of Daedalus, standing with
his hands full of feathers and wax,
their blood-flecked down under his fingernails
oh Margie, Margie, Margie.
your name sounds like snow.
you remind me of oranges.
you're a Polack
and i call you so.
why don't you call, Margie?
where have you gone?
i tried to keep in touch
but in the end i know
it's me.
i've gone.
you're still home.
all the kids who were our friends,
they are just your friends.
we were all in the marching band
but fuck that, Margie, you know
yes you know how i feel about that.
Margie.
i miss you,
and i barely even know you!
i wanted to see you
in the summer
in your attic
where we'd wear sweaty clothes
and move boxes by droves
and find books,
real books,
French books,
cook books
that all stank of cloves,
a
When I was seven, I was diagnosed with emotions.
"Poor girl." I heard them say. "She'll never survive this one."
I laid with my face towards the ceiling on the cold examination table, listening to them discuss my fate. I felt something breaking in my chest and something burning inside my throat. A small tear slipped down my cheek.
"Doctor! Look at this!" Shrieked my mother, "Something is coming out of her eye."
The doctor rushed over to me and wiped the tear from my cheek. He touched the top of my head as he whispered, "I am so sorry." And then he turned to my mother. "It's a tear. It means that she is sad."
"Sad?" My mother asked inquis
I told Johann that German was a disgusting language
full of grunts and hairballs and
harsh hateful aryan marches
and anger and terror
and words that got caught in the back of your mouth
like old toosie rolls and crunchy peanut butter
And he spoke to me in German
softly, gnetly
of an intimate and romantic language
of patent engineers huddled over brilliant inventions
of piano tuners listening intently
tenderly coaxing strings little by little
of musicians that transcribed the beauty and simplicity of little stone chapels
he spoke German
like it was a mysteriously lovely poem
with fierce pride and protection in his voice
he spo
The only thing that seems to keep the world out of my head these days
is white noise
it's a rush of excitedly flapping wings
it's nothing you could grasp but a sound and a colour that is none
I try to keep the world out
(she is playing her music too loud too much these days)
and I think of you, ears buzzing with white noises until they ache.
And I catch myself thinking
I wish you were my white noise -
the sound in between my heartbeats,
the same words whispered so close to my ear they sound like beautiful little secrets,
the rock I cling to when the waves crash violently all around me to keep from drowning, I wish you were
my home, my favo
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War by saevuswinds, literature
Literature
My Will O Wisp, I Spent Years Finding You In War
Dear William, when you warned people with that runaway star, no one noticed. Part of you died when you hurdled towards the Earth. In wartime, everyone loses part of themselves. My father fought for the next great war until his legs gave out. I don’t know if he ever killed someone, but I imagine a field of corpses and the smell of defecation would at least change a person. He never mentions it, except late at night, when we both look at the sky and watch you. He knew which way to go when fighting because he’d watch your stars and you’d keep him from danger. I’ll never forget that. His face was battered and grateful when
i am a young word weaver. follow me for first drafts and warm ups as i prepare to write several collections all at once. lately ive been writing short prose and poetry.