Story Slam, May 2010
Words: Door, Blink, Blue
The door is blue now, but once it was red, once it was white, once it was avocado, once it was the honey color of new wood, its knots darker, once it was plain planks coming off a machine, covered in its own dust. Once it was a tree that waved on a hillside in a stand of others. The thick blue paint is gloss, bright in the morning sun, richer in the afternoon. You sit in your yard, the grass spiky on your legs, which are stuck straight out, your weight leaning back on the heels of your hands. You watch your father paint the door, which is never allowed to peel and show its former colors. You blink summer on your eyelashes, the rainbow haze like 70s snapshots when you lower your lids, eyes thatched with lashes. You blink away a long afternoon, and the door is newly blue.
Line: Suddenly, the idea of eating the fat ones didn't seem so strange.
Earlier that day, she had waded into the pool from the waterfall, legs prettiest pale, up to ankles, knees, the hem of her dress wicking water, the sash trailing, darkening. And now, as they sit next to the fire, he slides a hot dog over a crooked branch, hears it hiss when it hits the fire. His hands are wet with it, meat just out of the plastic package, the watery cooler, the beer leaning cold against his foot. He watches it split, burn. Two years without a bite of meat, but now, for her, he could.
Theme: Paybacks
(I had nothing for this)
Words: stool, perform, shiny
The circus tent bloomed open, striped to make it merry. Kids cotton candy shiny, the trapeze artists backstage eating penny candy for good luck. Backstage smells of wine and mildew, tent packed too tight. In their train cars, the fabric's loose over lamps and everything's tied down tight for movement. The ferris wheel spins Sunday, shiny, the churchwheel reflected in last night's rain. Trapeze girl on tiptoes, feet lift off of wooden stool, kick it back and leap off into darkness, performance, and risk.
The door is blue now, but once it was red, once it was white, once it was avocado, once it was the honey color of new wood, its knots darker, once it was plain planks coming off a machine, covered in its own dust. Once it was a tree that waved on a hillside in a stand of others. The thick blue paint is gloss, bright in the morning sun, richer in the afternoon. You sit in your yard, the grass spiky on your legs, which are stuck straight out, your weight leaning back on the heels of your hands. You watch your father paint the door, which is never allowed to peel and show its former colors. You blink summer on your eyelashes, the rainbow haze like 70s snapshots when you lower your lids, eyes thatched with lashes. You blink away a long afternoon, and the door is newly blue.
Line: Suddenly, the idea of eating the fat ones didn't seem so strange.
Earlier that day, she had waded into the pool from the waterfall, legs prettiest pale, up to ankles, knees, the hem of her dress wicking water, the sash trailing, darkening. And now, as they sit next to the fire, he slides a hot dog over a crooked branch, hears it hiss when it hits the fire. His hands are wet with it, meat just out of the plastic package, the watery cooler, the beer leaning cold against his foot. He watches it split, burn. Two years without a bite of meat, but now, for her, he could.
Theme: Paybacks
(I had nothing for this)
Words: stool, perform, shiny
The circus tent bloomed open, striped to make it merry. Kids cotton candy shiny, the trapeze artists backstage eating penny candy for good luck. Backstage smells of wine and mildew, tent packed too tight. In their train cars, the fabric's loose over lamps and everything's tied down tight for movement. The ferris wheel spins Sunday, shiny, the churchwheel reflected in last night's rain. Trapeze girl on tiptoes, feet lift off of wooden stool, kick it back and leap off into darkness, performance, and risk.
Labels: story slam
posted by Elizabeth Thorpe at 1:06 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home