an acrostic

A boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear

Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;

Ever drifting down the stream
Lingering in the golden gleam
Life, what is it but a dream?

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that piece of childhood

I was overcome, a few days ago, to look suddenly for an old locket I had when I was little, and wore every single day of my childhood.

I can not seem to place it.

I haven’t looked *every where* for it yet, but it haunts me throughout my day when I’m not at home, and I think through all my memories of where I could have possibly hid it.

For I did hide it. It isn’t something I wear with much pride anymore, like I did as a child. A locket is, unfortunately, one of those things one cannot wear in the twenty-first century without having some noisy prick asking who’s picture you keep inside. That is the most annoying and extremely rude thing I could ever think to ask someone. For anyone with a brain knows that lockets are special, secretive and, always, romantic in nature. You don’t go around asking all your friends who their crushes are (at least, I certainly hope young people don’t do that to each other nowadays!) and you certainly don’t ask to see who’s in their locket!

This is the part where you’re certainly thinking, “who is in C.W.’s locket? I simply must know!” Well, sorry to disappoint, but even now I will not say. I’m older and wiser, and that means it’s more important than ever to keep the identity of my locket-lover secret.

I will say this. He is no longer with us. He died quite a long time ago; so long ago in fact that I never actually met him. I never got to say his name with my lips, or have him turn upon hearing it. But that is alright, because I have always been an ardent believer in true love and soulmates, and sometimes one’s soulmate defies even the laws of time.

I am also, however, not one to dwell in impossibilities. I realize that loving someone who is gone is most always painful and hopeless. I try to remain in the present, but I will admit there are times when I feel so lonely I can’t help but be drawn into the past, wishing beyond all reason that I could speak with the dead.

This is all sounding terribly Gothic, isn’t it? I fear I am spilling more of my soul than I intended.

My point is this. Remember the people you loved through your lifetime. You know (I know you do) that there is one person you cannot shake hold of; who constantly reminds you of who you are supposed to be, who knows your short comings, failings, darkest dreams and desires, your greatest hopes and wishes, your strengths and passions…

And that person may not be real, or you may have never met them before, or they may be cold in their grave. But don’t let anyone tell you they are not important. Only you get to decide who is important in your life, who is worth your time, and who is worth giving your love to.

I am going to go home tonight and look for that locket of mine. I am going to tear apart my room if I have to, to find it. And I think I may start wearing it again, on a long chain, that sinks below the collar of my shirt, away from prying eyes. It’ll sit on that chain right next to my heart, where my love resides, free to give to whomever I wish.

Rest in peace, my darling.

Es ist was es ist,

c.w. north

 

 

 

aesthetic: the secret garden

Because it’s springtime (finally!) here’s a little secret garden aesthetic for you; my favorite children’s book that definitely shaped me as a person, growing up. I always wanted to be Mary Lennox, even if she was stupidly mean.

sunday morning poetry

if ever I would leave you

it wouldn’t be at night

the cool and dark repose

void of love and light

if ever I would leave you

it wouldn’t be at dawn

the rising of the morning

where everything is calm

if ever I would leave you

it wouldn’t travel far

to europe or the ocean

where the waves crash and fall

if ever I would leave you

I wouldn’t stay so close

and see you walk across the street

and pick a red, red rose

if ever I would leave you

I’d hurt me most of all

if ever I would leave you

at all.

© 2017 C.W.North – All rights Reserved

the cure – IV

I am numb. I can’t feel my own hands, which are furiously grasping at my arms, nails biting harshly into my tender skin. I’ve run out of water in my eyes, but now a scream is welling up inside, begging to be let lose. I can’t scream, of course, which makes it all the more painful. My chest burns, throbs, because it cannot free itself from this hurt. Knowing I cannot voice my emotions makes me feel helpless, and as Griffin so plainly put it, worthless.

How could I be so stupid! I was mad at him, but why? Because I find him annoying sometimes? Because he drives me crazy with talk of his big plans and wild dreams? I have no logical reason to be angry with him, yet I am; was. I tell myself I am the only one to blame. I am worthless. I have nothing good to say, so I’ll continue to bite my tongue.

I don’t know what time it is anymore. When Griffin spoke those words to me, I turned without a sound, and left. I did not turn back and I don’t regret it. Now, as I’ve made my way several miles from where we were, I do, however, regret not having said I was sorry; am. I growl. My mind is rebelling. I wish I had a time-piece of some sort. I don’t like not knowing the time. At home, I am looking at the clock every few minutes, willing the day to go by when I can sleep and forget everything and everyone. Night is my great consoler and confidant. I am never truly at peace or at rest until I am wrapped in its dark security.

When I’ve finally let go of my guilt, or part of it, I look up and find myself in an area I on’t recognize. There aren’t any houses, but I can still see the faint outline of our fence in the distance. I find a patch of weed that isn’t too scratchy and plop down upon it, shaded from the grey sky above by a row of sad looking ghosts. I pick at the ground as I begin to think.

I only concentrate when I am utterly and entirely alone. I feel as if anyone were around they could easily read my thoughts. My thoughts are not merely the internal workings of my mind, but expressive in every part of me. My face and body reveal all too much about the way I act, careless and disgruntled. Thoughts are dangerous, but I feel a little more reassured about letting them run wild when I am alone.

As I stare at the white, paper-like coating of the ghosts all around me, I think of Griffin. I start to realize – and this is hard for me to admit – that I may be wrong about him. However hard I try to believe he’s just a distant, unattached person, the more I come to understand that he is most definitely no those things. With the death of his sister and the mentally fragile state of his mother, I see him more and more willing to be open with me about his struggles. Does this frighten me? Yes, very. I don’t like to hear Griffin talk about leaving because it so preposterous. Not that he can’t leave; he can. He could go to the Western Region if he got a passport, and if he properly passed the worker’s transfer paperwork. I don’t like to think if him going because I’d actually miss him. I wish desperately that Griffin could leave and study medicine; find a Cure and fulfill his dream. but it’s impossible. Jumping through the transfer hoops take forever, and most people never gain clearance. He knows it. I know it. Why can’t he accept that leaving is near impossible?

I stare at the fence several yards away and smile. I wonder how easy it would be to burn it to the ground. I think I could overcome my fear for that.

~

When it’s beginning to grow dark, around what I assume is about 6 o’clock, I head back home to Ofelia. I find her knocked out cold on the couch and I’m pretty sure that whatever she was drinking this morning finally hit her. I look around and notice that nothing seems out of the ordinary. The place isn’t messier than usual and the TV, thankfully, isn’t on. I hear my stomach make protest about the absence of food all day and I decide I better find something to calm its nerves. When I wander into the kitchen, I nearly scream.

There is dirt everywhere. All over the counters, the floor, even brown smudges across a few of the cupboards. I step around the piles on the floor that appear to be trying to multiply themselves. I clench my fists and grind my teeth together. “I just cleaned this place yesterday!” I shout. There’s no response from the living room, so I push open the butler door, its squeaking hinges cowering at my ferocity, and stomp over to where Ofelia’s snoozing form lies on the couch.

“What’s with the dirt on my clean floor?” I yell in her face. She doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t even open her eyes, but startles me after a moment’s silence with, “clients.”

I roll my eyes. I’m not putting up with this.

“I’ve had quite the day today, so I’d appreciate your cooperation!” I feel tears welling in my eyes but I scowl to hind them. Why am I so emotional today? The moon must not be in my favor this cycle.

“Have you? Well, so have I,” Ofelia taunts back.

“The dirt?”

“Clients, I already told you.”

I lose it. “What were you doing with dirt in the kitchen!?”

Ofelia rolls over and sighs. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you can clean it up fairly quickly.”

That’s when I plop down on the floor, face in my hands and sigh. “Griffin’s mother’s insane,” is all I manage.

“You didn’t know that?” Ofelia rolls back over.

I look up and the face Ofelia glances at me with tells me she seriously can’t believe I didn’t know sooner. I pull myself up, walk out of the room. Running up the stairs and down the hall,  I come to my room and slam the door, done with the world for right now. Finally, I let sleep take me away, food to ease my hunger no longer my biggest priority.


© 2017 C.W.North – All rights Reserved