Sonnet for Absence He breakfasts opposite an empty chairSonnet for Absence by ~Reasonably-Sunny
and on his darker mornings, over tea
he tells the seated absence absently
how much he loves her, as if she were there.
This morning, well aware he is alone
he rises restlessly and takes a walk
(on other days he doesn’t want to talk—
avoids his neighbors and the telephone.)
He cannot bear to look. Where roses grew
the garden is reclaimed by weeds once more.
His daughter visits, but not frequently
(she’s children of her own, and things to do.)
His new companion settles on the floor:
his shadow, stretched out like a memory.
Timothy Prince Timothy Prince wasn't helping his career. He was soothing his conscience. The position at Mercy didn't pay as well as his job at the neurological clinic in Washington, and the hours were worse, but once he'd made the mistake of mentioning the opening to his mother he had known he would take it, and now he was here, twenty-three minutes into his new job, standing outside the Stroke Unit with a stack of patient files and a strong desire to flee. Dr. McKinnon, the head of radiology, was shaking his hand, and saying how glad they were to have him. There was nothing Timothy could do about it anymore but try to not to grimace.Timothy Prince by ~Reasonably-Sunny
“I'm
sick, sister When you're sick, it shows. It clingssick, sister by ~Reasonably-Sunny
to your bones. Your body
has betrayed you, but your brain
is the double-cross. You are dying and
they blame you like you chose this
skin-tight suffocating horror in your mind.
Who gave you that article on the dancer
with your disorder – six foot two and
ninety two pounds – her heart shut down
on stage but she probably didn't notice.
That girl is your sister, you have seen her
in the sunken eyes of girls in supermarkets,
restaurants, at table three, on aisle seven,
shivering as it all stares back accusingly.
Your spine is a pike which your head
is tied to with wires – your arm
The Dream Suite I.The Dream Suite by ~Reasonably-Sunny
I wasn't afraid of hospitals at the time. I kept turning around, saying, "I could walk, you know. I'm not sick." He smiled down beneficently at me.
"I know," he said, but he kept pushing the wheelchair. The autumn light filtered through the trees and windows, making the hallway glow strangely. His coat and teeth all seemed to glow brilliantly white while the corridor's corners and the doorways seemed to recede into shadow.
"Where are we going?" I wasn't scared. I've never had good instincts. "Why won't you let me walk?"
I could hear him grinning behind me. "You'll see."
II.
It wasn't romantic. This was a desp
As If If you can hold your drink when all about youAs If by ~tightwhitepants
are losing theirs and aiming it at you,
if you can drive your car when all men doubt you,
but make allowance for the coppers too;
or need to pee but not be tired by waiting,
or after peeing don’t forget your flies;
on politics or football start debating
and yet don’t look too good nor talk too wise.
If you can drink and not make drink your master;
if you can talk – and not make sense your aim;
if you can still stand up although you’re plastered
and shout at passing women dirty names;
if you can bear to hear the truth tomorrow
of how you acted like a total fool
and
Sta.sh
!!!
