Sunny’s Note: Beautiful.
she took some tin
cans and stacked
them in a circle
around her
green beans
chicken broth
yams
removing the labels
she drew up a sign
promoting free pieces
of her soul
everyone who stopped
by said it was delicious
244.
Emily’s note: everything about this poem is so right, and I feel it in my bones. So much yes.I graced your skin
with needle-boned
fingers and found
you are icicle-fragile,
threatened by a mere
wind of words, cracking
at the slightest resistance,
growing condensation
at the smallest breath
that might not be yours,
too weak to wait for
summer and will wither
when the sun comes up.
Staff Updates
Hello everyone,
EC is going to go through some major changes real soon. Something good is in the works and I hope you lovely people stick around with us to see it unfold when it does happen (soon, I hope - my schedule permitting) and continue to read all of the wonderful pieces we have been posting.
We have some new faces and I am sure they will bring even more unknown writers to light. I am happy with the crew and the new members, I am sure you will be too.
As you know, Dennis and Wolfie joined a few weeks ago. I am super excited to have s-emi-colon join us as well. And Edward.
If you are still interested, you can hit me up anytime, though as I have said before, I cannot accommodate you if your schedule doesn’t permit you to be active.
Regards,
Sunny
Emily’s note: this is delicious, rife with ripe and penetrating imagey, and just all-around lovely.Beneath our window pane,
which was once newly painted
with a color called “cream”
and is now dull with dust mites
and memories,
I sometimes curl my fingertips together
and use my entwined arms to envelop
the unshaven thighs,
like a ribbon,
that you touched last night.
The skin you traced has crumbled
into a sand so fine
that you tasted it
to see if it were really confectioners sugar
and laughed when it wasn’t.
And so I am smaller, but not sweeter,
and I wonder if you ever look
through the hazy window glass
the way you did
when your palm met the brim of my breast.
But then it was crisp with white,
and the sun shone through relentlessly,
and I did not wonder if you saw me.
Written by: http://soberfallouts.tumblr.com/
(J. Herrick)
It's a Thin Line Between Love and Hate: I can’t shake the tension that has propped itself under the base of my...
Sunny’s Note: This was such an interesting read. I love the word play in this. It is a raw piece, I admire that and it was a pleasure to find.
I can’t shake the tension that has propped itself under the base of my ribcage— at the tip of the xiphoid process
It’s hard to tell in the mix of emotions what or who the culprit is.
Everything about my body is sensitive
every nerve is more aware
I try and think, but I can’t
I open my lungs, but I cannot breathe
there is a firm hand on things that are supposed to come naturally.
it’s as if, I’ve forgotten how to process my emotions
It’s been years and I’ve forgotten how to admire someone
how to convey my feelings
I put up my walls and I’ve become a part of a mystery
I’m becoming a case that cannot be cracked.
Locked up tighter than the gears that turn to free the safe
I want to be open
I want to free my heart
I want to remember how to be comfortable with another and not just myself.
I want him to help me remember who I am and how far I’ve come
It’s been years
I’m ready to reveal my inner self
The challenge is remembering how.
May 20, 2013
Sunny’s Note: I love everything about this piece. Every line has its own wave. It is lovely.
With feathers sewn together poorly
And falling rather quickly,
We beat our limbs in the desperation
That captivated our mere existence.
One would think that we would have
Noticed our decline in altitude
And the filling of our lungs with
Dense air, engorged by our
Lavish, foolish, wasted dreams.
With such broken wings,
There was nothing to do but fall.
I once had a hope for eternal sunshine.
And the core currents that wound tight my heart are different. And the old sorrows beneath my irises are dead leaves torn apart. And nothing is real unless I will it, but don’t worry because I willed us— once among the ashes of a life lived. But in fragments.
You are dead; I am death; souls are the everlasting reality of Earthdust. And this is now- a complacency in our timeline- and this is now- a dry burnt love to the skin- and this is now, as the goldenrod summer powers its way towards us: nothing. Nothing at all.
I took my fingers and touched my skin to remember I am real. I looked at my eyes in the mirror and believed that if love exists, then it is forever connected with death. My laughter sounded like the broken yelps of an ape in exile, and the moon shrouded the whole scene. Took my keys and drove to the highway we followed everyday. Screamed in song the whole way back home.
I once had a hope for eternal sunshine. It is gone with my past. I am better this way, I keep telling myself. I am better this way because I understand what is possible and what is impossible— in love and in life. Yet the fog that swamped around my windows brought me to a land that sought my own soul, and I wanted to return briefly, because back then I heard a universe in a single girl’s laugh.
The draft of the night seemed to pull my car back into the driveway. I sat at my kitchen table and reflected. The core currents that once wound tight my heart are different. My old sorrows are there, in my eyes (just look), but torn apart. Mixed. And that is my world.
I did it again; lifted my fingers and touched my skin. I wanted to know that I was real.
Karol’s note: Beautifully written; imagery & emotion. It makes you want to Love. Simply; utterly.
Hidden.
Sunny’s Note: This makes me sad, my dear but it is a feeling I relate to so much. Keep writing it out. It is amazing work.
it’s okay, I am used to
walking in the dark alone.
these shadows have become
my home, and the silence, a friend.
my arms, are hidden beneath
the weak dreams I once had.
but, honestly, leave me to it.
I will be dead,
and not make a sound.
I promise.
peripheral vision could not envision: i did not want to fall today.
Sunny’s Note: A piece of writing with such a story, a snippet of something you’ve never known or have known but just feel so crazy to put it into words. This was lovely to read. A great piece.
all i did was exist
and now policemen are choking me with ribbons
as white as the doves i saw the day he died.
and his mother is screaming at me so i whisper,
i told you the truth, but she just laughs
as i fall in love with the blood running down my arm.
and then the blood melts into a million headaches
and she’s running away,
even though my nails are already digging into her skin
and past that and into her heart.
and i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry,
because my hands are shaking like the cracks in my veins
and those cracks are becoming fissures and even bigger,
splitting me in half, and if i had wings,
those feathers would tear into the millions of daisies
that grow from his grave
like the bullet that now grows in my heart.
and i look up, but i see no doves today.
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