Feel Free to Roam

Saturday, June 26, 2010

I Once Heard her Say - (Ruff Practice Poetry class)

Who knows the freshness of lovers decay
Who more than a widow listening each day,for
the footsteps of a haunting heart,
nursing memories with illusions of time long gone.
Who knows the freshness of lovers decay
Who more than a weeping womb aching for
a fetus too soon discarded;
regrets unfold into compromises
that fail to heal, fail to ease the faint murmur of fetus dieing.
Who knows the freshness of lovers decay
Who more than You or I

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Broken Reflections of A Former

There is nothing much to say about my present surroundings, there is certainly fruits but they’ve quite aged, I think that’s the foot of  the old antique chest Marlene from 12B was trying to shuffle up the stairs yesterday as I was heading out to rehearsals. A familiar odor of masalla and curry is beginning to mask the fleeting air, seems the Abdullah’s probably had a huge feast again this week. I think this is their third Jhandi for the month. Once, Bibi the youngest of the Abdullah’s invited me over for their seven curry fiesta, I had promised to stop by that afternoon, I never did. 

At nineteen I left my homeland on a student visa in the hopes of finding myself and staking a claim in the world as a renowned classical dancer. Everything was splendid, I don’t have horror stories to unveil, and in many ways I was one of the lucky ones I should say. My boarding family took me in as simply one of their own and within four years I had completed my degree in theater and Dance and got accepted into the prestigious Alvin Ailey Dance Company.

The only moment that can perhaps eclipse the ghostly hollows of my emotions is the night I lost my childhood friend Dara. Eight years ago, March 14th  to be exact our car was struck by a drunk driver. I was driving. I lived and Dara didn’t. Could you believe it was her birthday. I could still see her simple frame, lifting off the passenger seat and slowly propelling towards the deceptive partition that gave no rescue to her soaring body. Her eyes weighed heavy with fear, and her arms ached to clench my failing wrist. That’s the last image I have of Dara, I didn’t go to the funeral because I spent the next six months in coma. It was the most painful period of my life except for this moment lying here motionless. My words have long since escaped me and my brain has finally given up the task of awakening my limbs. My once beautiful limbs, that sculpted perfectly formed arabesque movements and birthed new rhythms in non-verbal proliferation, are now rendered inanimate; fractured, sprawled and bloodied. A head that is no longer dependable for the support of a recent serrated neck, rest lonely in the top draw of Marlene’s antique chest, from 12B.

Fiction Writing II Use of reverse technique, playing with the elemnt of time,

Candace Austin
Eng 302
Prof. Tonya Hegamin
March 8th, 2010

Your Head is throbbing.

Continuous pounding throughout your body, your back feels as though you’d collided with a concrete block. Starting to make sense of your surroundings, there is a faint smell of tangy musk lingering in the air.
What’s that, it’s wet, is that coming from your body, sliding your hands down the left side, you feel it, warm and slowly gushing out of you. The tangy stench suddenly grows stronger.
It returns, the fear, the memory.
It’s him, o god, it’s him.
A heavy force is now wedge on your hips, crushing your body into the cracked ruff surface beneath you. Yes you’re outside, you hear the swift movement of cars passing by in the distance, and maybe someone will hear you.
You scream help, no sound, just silence.



No sound.

A sharp pain races from your groin to your womb.

You didn’t even get a chance to tell them about the baby.

Savagely thrusting his self inside of you, he jams his finger into your side and you can feel him making your body his voodoo doll and playing with your insides.

You pull into the old parking lot across from the lake. Usually, you would park at the nearby High school and run the three blocks over. It’s been six years to date since your Dad past and the memories of his last days, fighting his illness are still ever present. So, despite the frigid weather, you had to escape just to clear your mind. 

Dashing across the road, you head down that broken trail that has now become your habitual route, surrounded by brittle brushes, stomping hard on the cold cracked grey land with your dog tired sneakers. The lake is calm and you notice the frosty residue around the edges. A crisp icy breeze brushed against your expose neck, sending a chill throughout your body. The air is thick and at times painful but you do not stop, instead; you shift the worn out black striped hood over your head and quicken your pace. Miles is usually out here around this time, you glance at your watch, its 6:05 and the sun is now creeping out from beyond the low Peak of Cherokee Mountain. You’re reminded of the last trip you took there with your dad, in the Parsons Valley and how he promised to take the entire family camping in the summer. Boy he sure did catch a huge snapper, from Carlton’s old pond near your grandparent’s farm. 

Where is that gray hair twenty something old Queen, he had promised to meet you at the junction under the orange tree. Though there are no oranges right now and come to think of it there none hanging low in the summer either. Wait a minute from a distance you notice a guy in a dark navy blue Holston University Sweat shirt. Could that be Miles? Your mouth gives way to a smirked grin. Is he really wearing an ancient Holston Sweat shirt, Miles could be such a trip. Anyhow, you head towards him feeling a little more relieved and just as you’re about to swing your arms around him, the strange face darts back at you.

You almost lose your balance in trying to avoid colliding with the stranger; he reaches out and catches you before your body could crash into the massive tree trunk.

“O my I’m so sorry, I thought…I thought…o my how clumsy of me,” you managed to mutter as adrenalin and shock is pumping to your head. You stare at each other intently. His deep dimples form shallow crevices on his face and replies, “you were going quite fast there.”
“I thought you were someone else,” you apologetically replied, while nervously shifting your hood. You step back discretely.

“That’s quite okay, he’s a lucky guy to get such a greeting,” the stranger cleverly quipped.

“Are you heading down by the bikers path, maybe I can join you,” he replied with much eager and anticipation as he kept glancing at your rectangle amulet around your wrist. Clasping your hands around your palms, you replied, “No, actually I’m meeting a friend in a few, sorry perhaps another time”.

“Sure,” he replied.

As you start jogging, you glance back and he’s still looking, hmmm, he seems familiar maybe you’ve seen him in the park before.
It’s 6:45.
You have a doctor’s appointment at 9’o clock, one you will not miss. The huge Maple trees are close ahead but you despise walking near the doggy park especially with the last poop incident. You gently touch your stomach.

The taste of milk and honey floods your inner thoughts; honey, spinach and eggs, that’s what Charles is making this morning.
So avoiding the doggy Park and the vacant shade of the maple trees altogether, you make a spirited sprint across the bare grass-less stretch of land. For a moment you’re surprised at yourself, it’s been a while since you’ve ran quite so fast. And then an unexpected sense of panic, causes you to slow down. You take a breather by the park bench opposite the fenced pond. Touching your stomach you exhale a sigh of relief. A quick glimpse of your watch reveals it’s 7:55 am.

As you’re about to ease off the bench and start your walk back to your car, you notice the Holston Cougar slogan coming towards you. You didn’t even ask him his name, your face begins to ease into a welcome smile. He does not slow down.

You’re hit and fall slowly to the ground, the light slips away from you and you drift into complete darkness.