First: Teen Angst. Then: Other voices

She’s got her head in her hands.
The tears have finally come up out of her throat,
through the ducts, down her face.

“How could you do this to me?” she sobs into her hands.
She’s on the old lumpy sofa.

“Let’s calm down a minute.”

“That is so easy for you. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
She looks at his brown eyes; he is so serious, so composed.
“Did you hear me? I said I bloody don’t know myself anymore!
I didn’t sign up for this you know.”

“What do you want me to do? Take it all back? You chose this
journey. You want to go back to day one?”

She looks up at the stained ceiling. The horrid flourescent bulb
winking at her. That stupid generic fruit basket painting right in her
line of vision. She tries to find anything else to look at so as to avoid
eye contact.

She dances by the light of her campfire,  never allowed to get so close
back in her “village days”.
Her shadow dances too.
It’s an arms-out-legs-kicking dance. Her shadow arms and fingers are languid.
she’s not dancing because she is happy or celebrating
she’s not dancing because she is free
she’s dancing because she doesn’t know what else to do with this
      this physical side that hangs on inspite of the soul
She doesn’t even hear a song in her head or heart or anything
there isn’t a dream inducing her movement
She just is.


What you would expect is actually not true.
What we thought we would find is not there.
And we didn’t find something unexpected either.
We didn’t find anything this time.
so was the trip a waste?


~ by hannahcsykes on July 16, 2008.

2 Responses to “First: Teen Angst. Then: Other voices”

  1. i love the title on this one! my favorite stanza is the one about dancing around the fire, it seems so free, “the physical side that hangs on in spite of the soul” is a great line!

  2. Jeff told me you were a great poet– he was right.

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