Normal
Prose, Poetry, Proetry, a Proem
Pink and confusing
Daggers of Ruby Red
We’re sitting on a park bench in Gabicce so she said it in Italian,
“E normale essere così stanca?”
I could answer that I don’t understand
But I do
It’s a point of pride for me
I DO understand the history of what insomnia melts
It only took 14 years of study for me to know how
to seduce a sentence
and
puncture a paragraph
Good enough — isn’t
Not for me
And for what?
I will never alphabet my forte
and it makes me triste :(
I want to be good at everything
But I want it to be easy, breezy, sneezy
Salute!
It’s sticky humid and we’re both glowing with sweat and fuming with stink
I want to apple cork her small talk
but I keep bumping into things
And I don’t trust strangers
Even if she’s lonely
Even if I’m lonely
We are two sweet falling stars
dying on the clothesline
Is she waiting for someone?
Does she have anyone to wait for?
And why is she so tired?
She’s disappearing now
(Am I already gone?)
I have the urge to kiss her
A windy galaxy of newness forms inside of my Sunday morning
A single leaf falls from the tree above
We both stare at it
Waiting for it to tell us something
It doesn’t
So I do the talking
I turn towards the lady with the spiky hair and ruby lipstick on her teeth and, in my broken stillness, I say in no language in particular,
“I don’t know if it’s normal to be so tired but normal is bullshit.
Let us drink some wine and forget about everything.”
Books
Artsy Books
https://www.etsy.com/shop/GoodVibesByAnnieWood?ref=profile_header§ion_id=37831348
Art Gallery