by Steven Kenworthy
boy plants a seed.
born to carve,
falls in love with a tree.
she, dissects me in orange like carrots yanked freshly from september soil. mother earth did not want to let go of this batch.
edna scissorhands gives a nasty handshake, a memorable massage and a mean finger puppet show. poor girl, all she wants to give is love.
vested in black, she wears white to keep the negative associations as sword swallowed as possible. if the sky were onyx, and not midnight blue, she would hide in there too. maybe better to wear a plaster mask; she lives in the French quarter, speaks fluent Timid and has never been able to play with balloons like the other children. she is down on her luck, “threat status amber”. she has never spent a nickel on an apple peeler. confetti queen when she wants to be.
edna makes the best snowflakes.
poor girl, the benefits are few.
a cautious umbrella, edna struggles to find beauty in the soft pounding of april showers, but has never had difficulty locating wd-40 in the desolate aisles of the hardware store. hard hands, soft heart.
in a world full of fabric things like wedding dresses, pillowcases and paisley curtains, edna keeps to herself more often than not. indefinitely banned from hugging with the arms, she is forced to wrap her mind around things. too many imagined embraces. a hundred million almost touches. if the people are not made of steel, then they are paper dolls. mothers stopped buying these for their daughters years ago. outdated, most days she wishes she’d expire.
a ten-fingered boy named edward found her cut down to size. scarlet sap running scared from her limbs; edward sought the same giving tree whose ribs he would cursively carve at on quiet, bookless days. a decadent spine with verse like lines. he spent his fortune on sharp things, whittling away the dull moments. born to scrape, he is covered in dust.
striped and stripped a boy obsessed with bark, Edward will take her from the dark. he wants what she has, she wants a break. to save time, space, money and a life, he wants her hands.
edna has had it up to here.
edward cares about only one thing.
he would give anything for her gift.
she would give anything to give it away.
in a universe defined by sewing wounds,
the O.R. can do anything these days. glowing opportunity with their shiny tools. in an exchange of pace Edward kept count. one year later they would make a date to take steps to make a cake. he would do all the cutting. she accepted a new technology world where digital touch is still overrated.
she walks down the stairs.
she takes his arm.
Author's Note: believe in the unbelievable.
Posted on 05/06/2010
Copyright © 2020 Steven Kenworthy
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/07/10 at 02:39 AM|
Marvelous imagination moves through this.
|Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 05/07/10 at 03:25 AM|
"indefinitely banned from hugging with the arms, she is forced to wrap her mind around things." love. absolutely love this.
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/07/10 at 01:39 PM|
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
|Posted by Laurie Blum on 05/11/10 at 12:45 PM|
You always amaze me with how you blend words to wrap me in a blanket of melancholy, yet I am filled with hope. I cannot describe how deeply your work often touches me. Beautiful, just beautiful.
|Posted by Megan Guimbellot on 05/12/10 at 08:44 PM|
Wow. This may be one of my favorites ever now. Everything about it is perfect. And I do mean perfect. Nice going, S.