Thursday February 11th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about something that is: raw.

Max was asleep by 7:30 last night with no trouble whatsoever. He woke up in his 'little bed' (I brought up his mattress for him to sleep on in Kat's parents room) around 2 in the morning, saying he was cold. Kat's parents asked if he wanted to come into their bed and he did. He was asleep again shortly after that. He woke up this morning, chatting away like he always does with us.

Awesome. Couldn't have asked for better.

I asked him this morning, on the way to daycare, if he'd had so much fun that he wants to do it again some time. He said yeah... when do I get to do it again?

I said we'd have to find a time that works for Grandma and Papa too. He seemed good with that.

At home I had the best sleep I've had in a long time. It was weird not having him around but also nice knowing that he wasn't far away. I'm ready for him to do it again too.


Skin scrubbed raw
By this bone-dry winter;
Every pore feels
Like it's got a splinter.

Hands so parched,
My fingers are cracking;
No creams can
Provide what I'm lacking.

Only one cure
Exists for this cold pain,
So I'll just wait
For spring's return again.


Greg said...

It sounds like Max is comfortable enough with his grandparents then, and I can see why you're pleased: this should make the birth of his brother easier logistically! And yes, it's nice to sometimes get a night's sleep when the only person you have to worry about is yourself :)
I like the way your poem gets steadily more jerky towards the end, as though it too has been rubbed raw and is starting to crack -- it's a very clever device and I think it works here. It's a little painful to read though, for all I tend not to get such problems myself, I can easily imagine them!

[Typo for you, btw, last line of the first verse, its needs an apostrophe.]

There was a smell of perfume, just like her grandmother used to wear, and the soft whisk of cloth rubbing against cloth. For a moment then there was silence, and then a kindly voice broke it.
"I can see you're not sleeping, dear. And I'm pretty sure you can hear me, your chart says nothing about you being deaf. So be a love and open those eyes. I'm not that ugly."
The sheets were tight around her and she wasn't entirely sure that she could free her arms, but they were pulled up to her neck so maybe that was ok. She thought about opening her eyes, and wondered why she do what this voice was asking, but finally she couldn't find a reason to be difficult and opened them.
The room was ablaze with light; the walls were creamy and dazzling at the same time, and the television on its little bracket in the corner was only a temporary respite. It was turned off and its screen reflected back the light from the window and she could make out the curtains in the reflection. There was a brown bookcase and it felt like the epitome of brown, a dense brown-ness that wanted to swallow up everything else and make it all brown. There was a red book on the case – she closed her eyes again.
"Good," said the voice. It sounded approving and... female. Matriarchal. "That was very good. You've had your eyes closed for nearly a month now, and we think your optic nerves are a little... raw. You can rest them a little, then we'll try again, and that'll be it for today. Unless you want to try by yourself, of course."
She opened her eyes again, irritated by the implication that she couldn't, and stared around the room. Her eyes started watering at the intensity and beauty of it all, but she turned her head, holding them open even as it got painful and the tears blurred her vision. Then she closed them again.
"Very nice," said the voice. "You've got guts, girl. I'm Babs, by the way."
Insane. She had to be insane, because she was sure, despite the tears blurring her visions and the pain in her eyes, that the voice was coming from a gigantic ant sitting at her bedside.

Marc said...

Greg - I think what you're reading is a poem that sprang from what I considered a great opening and then... fell apart as I was unable to maintain that quality afterward.

It actually was coming together in my head as a spoken word piece, but things went darker than I cared to go on the blog so we ended up with... this. Oh well, I shall keep that opening in mind for another time, in another place.

Thanks for the typo catch, by the way. Happy to see you found a way to sneak in another visit to House of Mercy :) Lovely writing, as always.