Standard gears are grinding down
A possible momentum shift
Feeling but not forcing them
That is the trick
Now isn’t it?
— April Resnick
Photograph from when Volkswagen experimented with four-wheel drive technology during WWII
http://ranwhenparked.net/2013/02/06/a-look-at-the-experimental-four-wheel-drive-volkswagen-bus/
There is a fragile friend who sits with me
She begs to let her stay intact
To hear the cracks but look away
No, I cannot commit that act
There is nothing left but shatter her
Into dust with what I write
Perhaps it hurts to read the words
Yet the living of it deadly quiet
That friend in me who seeks comfort
While all around her self implodes
She must break apart to finally start
An honest walk with heavy load
— April Resnick
Shatter & Spill
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcga0PvyBCc
Life
There it is
That weighted pendulum
Pointing through me to the earth
My silence has not stopped it swinging
Only allowed me to feel the tug on my guts
Helped me to hear the movement of molecules
Created when it circles and stirs my insides
Were I to cut it only to lighten my middle
My vital organs would surely scatter
Leaving me an empty floating husk
No, I walk heavy on the ground
I will sit still to feel the pull
Emptiness can wait
It can visit when
I die
— April Resnick
Plumb Bob and Haiku Islands, by Claire Beynon
I look forward
There is a dark season on the horizon
Light mood, light humor, light slipping
Slowly below that line of land, looming
Barely noticeable except by feel alone
Shadows unseen while looking towards the sun
Were always there, but now begin a slow reach
Clothing will soon change from easy sheath
To layered shrouds of mourning, for cover
Of skin thinned raw from exposure
Awakening in me a guttural wantonness
Growing from a gritty grounded place
I will soon seek out meaty music
With heavy words and thicker chords
That carry earthy reverb, building
They will wreak a heady havoc
Turning the breezy haze of easy tune
Into dark and heavy magic
I grin crooked, with a welcome chill
— April Resnick
Dark Sunset, creator unknown
I noticed
It crawled at night
And dangled from a dying branch
Exoskeleton shed, or shedding
Tiny marble eyes black and dimming
Peeling, unable to blink
Once a deep and earthy brown
Becoming ashen, discarded dust
I looked again
And it had evolved with the day
Only an alien carcass remained
Its hollow hanging ghost
A reminder of what it once was
Now birthed and green and winged
Stretched and strength gathered
Time to tick and sing and scream, to mate
To produce, to fall, to burrow, to wait
— April Resnick
Brood II by Pen Brady
I love
The ticking of a clock, a metronome
The feel of cookie dough between my fingers
The smell of chicken and rice and cornbread, frying
The sound of the piano and the pressure cooker closing
The taste of a second stolen slice of salted raw cabbage
The memory of puzzles, playing cards, your purse
The idea of that cup of warm liquid cherry Jell-o
The opportunity to twirl in the dress you made
The strength and sharp humor you gave
The way you helped heal me, still
The you that I find in me
My grandmother
— April Resnick
Grandmother by Marion C. Honors
This week has played with me
So I decided to play back
I ripped the curtain open
Not content with just a crack
Magic mumbling in the air
Grouchy grumbling from beyond
I could not handle hints of rain
At least not for very long
Drapery drowning at my feet
Shards of window shattered wide
I stepped into the world’s downpour
No drop of will to stay inside
I looked up and let it pelt me
Saturate my dusty clothes
Another animal inside a storm
I became wild and one of those
Let’s run and hunt, forage and fuck
To spite the cracking of the sky
Just another evolution
Shedding “should be” skin am I
— April Resnick
Becoming Animal by Antony Micallef
Will I have a hangnail when I die
All swollen, painful, pink
Or perhaps an eyelash in my eye
These are the things on which I think
With those final bits of breath I take
Great void of blackness, on the brink
Will my pointer finger pulse with ache
Will I have one last scratchy blink
Back pain, splinter, paper cut
Clogged nose, or tears, from sour stink
Toothache, leg cramp, sudden hiccups
That final itch just out of reach
Nothing ever goes the way
I plan, precisely nice and neat
So why should my days gracefully fade
Without a last sardonic nod and wink
— April Resnick
Photograph by oliviaargue.tumblr.com
Some days I just lose perspective,
Positive-isms not at all effective.
Days like this simply suck,
I can’t pretty them up,
My “things work out” button effing defective!
So I sit, and I write, nothing works,
Only serving to make matters worse.
They simply recap,
A day quite turned to crap,
No clever quip left to fill in that damn verse!
— April Resnick
Bad Day by http://elultimodeseo.deviantart.com/
Inspired by my grandmother telling me, “It’s okay to say ‘damn’ when you need to.” Thanks Grandma.
Grey shame
A steel structure
Built one bolt at a time
Each rivet, molded metal piece
Made to bear the entire weight
Of me
I want to be closer to the ground
Rusting out and crumbling
Takes too long
Demolition
I hesitate
Perhaps it is better
To cut myself down the middle
Peel myself off
Even as I wobble in the wind
Walking away
Looking back
There are still dripping bits of me
Left hanging on that steel skeleton
I leave them and let them be
They will dry in time
And I will learn to scaffold myself
With my own dying bone,
And muscle shuffling
I am prepared to stop
And sit when needed
— April Resnick
That Bloody Building, taken by Ethan (giantkiller8) from flickr
