Spilling Rubies on Filth

She was laughing…
(at a joke that wasn’t there)
when in the middle of Times Square,
her legs melted
from pelvis down.

High left cheekbone
smacked-kiss the pavement,
spilling rubies on filth

that pushed concrete into her flesh.

At the emergency room,
I watched bits of New York City
pocking the skin under her eye.

“What happened?”
I said,
after two nurses left the room.

“Dunno.” Silent tears said she did.

“It’s all right.” I walked to her,
and held her. “You’re all right.
We’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

“I was on my way to work,” she said,
“and heard Mami called me supermana.
I’ve been exhausted. Couldn’t stop laughing.”

I hugged her closer to my chest, rocking her,
when the hurt began to crack;
while she sobbed about her office being miles away
from Times Square; when she wept for her mom,
who had been gone for nineteen years.

Process Note: side effects of sleep deprivation include (but are not limited to) impaired judgement, hallucinations and micro-sleep—falling asleep for short periods of time without being aware of it. Many people living with chronic pain also endure sleep deprivation. ~ Healthline

***
for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 23 – Pain and Sleep: Write a poem that explores the intricate relationship between pain and sleep.

Sleep Deprivation, by Hazel Mabbott“Sleep Deprivation”, by Hazel Mabbott
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No Monsters Here

They amputated her hope
while she served
in The Horn of Africa.

After she returned home, a babe
fed on milk he thought Free,
spat in her face
and she lost the right side of her vision.

Gut nibbled by masses of parasites,
heart choked
by yesteryears in her throat,
she said to the dark eyes
touching her skin through the hurt,

“I
died
more than eighteen months ago.
Haven’t they noticed me gone?
Can none feel the lifeless beating
of an emptied soul?”

A jolt
burned the center of her chest,
nearly breaking her back.

.

But nearly never accomplished enough;
for with her eyes un-blurring, post-zapped,
a now known dark gaze
aimed a Taser center-mass.

“You are with us, Sergeant.”

“I’m nearly sure you’re mistaken,”
she said,
and drifted back into the dark.

.

With hope and vision
stitched back on,
she looked at her face in dark mirrors.
“You run this place on your own, Doc?
It seems big and remote for just you.”

The Doctor leaned into the Sergeant’s face,
shining a little light into sandy eyes.
“There is me and Iris, my assistant.
She went to market for supplies.”

“Warn her, Doc. Before she hears all my scars;
people don’t take well to monsters
in their home.

“I see no monsters here,” said the Doctor
of the intent-full dark eyes.

One stitched soul was brought back from the dead.

Process Note (mildly on steroids): Last night, I asked my Facebook friends to “help me choose the author on whose work I [would] base my 22nd cruellest month poem”: Edgar Allan Poe, Mary Shelley or Sheridan Le Fanu. When I woke up, Poe and Shelley were tied. However, a member of Team Shelley showed considerable (if devious) initiative, and cheated to break the tie. I know, my Wicked Luvs, one should never reward such questionable behavior, but… Shelle looked so adorable in her disguising mustache. I just couldn’t resist. Poe gained some more votes a few hours after that, but I had already written the Shelley poem (and had gone back to sleep, in order to let it set before jolting it to life). But worry not, dear Poe lovers, you can take comfort in “Hair, Teeth, Poe”, or in the next Poe piece I pen (it won’t be long… probably). The Taser idea was shamelessly stolen from Ben R Marsten *runs away, so Ben can’t catch her*.

***
for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 22 –  Plant a Poem in a Tale: Create a poem set within a story you read.

Frankenstein by Escalonilla...“Frankenstein”, by Escalonilla…
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