Broken Poem (Fragment #16)

I knocked at the door.

“Come in!”

The professor was sitting on the window sill without his shoes. It looked a bit strange, but I had gotten used to his little quirks. Generally speaking, our entire magistral staff is a strange sort of panopticon—a freak show if you will—and so sitting barefoot on a window sill looks like kid’s stuff in comparison with the other teachers’ habits.

“What are you staring at? Give me your scribbles!”

I had gotten used to his bad manners too. With impassiveness I offered my worn down notebook to him. The professor opened it, read some lines and screwed up his face.

“What the crap?”

“It’s my homework.”

“Are you sure?”

“It seems so…”

“Quite so. It only seems like homework.”

He tossed the notebook against the wall. It bumped into a shelf of softbound texts, opened and came apart. Lines that I had written with diligence and care crumbled. Words and punctuation marks were scattered higgledy-piggledy in every corner like pieces of a shattered cup. I sniffled and bit my bottom lip.

“Gather up this trash. And don’t spoil such precious words with your glamorous bullshit.”

I stood and looked at his bare feet, at those claws clutching over the floor. They were long and crooked with an unpleasant yellow hue…

“Look sharp! I’m not going to hang around for another aeon!”

I started to gather my unhappy poem from the dirty floor. Resentment was slowly turning into fury. Plucked peacock! I will sort you! I will show you anti-glamour!

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2017

64 thoughts on “Broken Poem (Fragment #16)”

  1. Thought you might like this one; yours reminded me of it…
    Words On Words

    I was talking in my sleep,
    I woke to yawning whispers coming from the corners.
    Wondering, I swung my feet over the side of the bed…
    My room was full of scraps of paper!
    I rubbed my eyes;
    I slid from covers
    Suddenly brittle with handwritten promises
    Crackling with nomenclature.

    I slipped my feet into poems
    Like slippers, they were,
    Old and comfortable
    Soft, furry, warm.
    I shuffled into my tiny kitchen
    Stepping on a trio:
    “Eggs” and “toast” and “coffee”
    These rose like dusted gold
    Clinging to my ankles

    Pajama bottoms caught
    On verbs, tearing the hems,
    Sticking like chestnuts on fringe
    I glanced down,
    Marveling at “adventuring” and “philandering.”
    I plugged in the coffeepot.
    I had to push “movie” and “blog” into the sink to make room for my cup.

    I reached for the honey atop the fridge
    as “square” “tiny” “postcard” and “new” fell onto the floor.
    I put the water up and both hands down
    Marveling at fistfuls of
    Adjectives, “attractive” and “makeshift” and “hearty”

    I pulled out bowls from the
    Cabinet and began to
    Gather unfinished thoughts
    Putting flat plates on top
    To hold them down

    Their susurrations sibilant
    Hissing in containment…
    I pulled the broom from
    “corner” and went to
    Hands/knees to fish
    The palindromes from under the fridge,
    (These I sealed in Tupperware for later)

    Everywhere the swirl and swill
    Of language, bit and scrapped
    On rice paper, parchment
    Recycled news, marginalized blue ink
    Picture houses of words
    Forming up and down
    Words marching, singing together
    Filled the bathroom
    Sticking to the shower walls

    I plucked and pulled and gathered
    Until each drawer was filled
    Each cabinet groaned to close
    My rock collection held down what was left.

    I sat to read
    But all the books were blank
    And innocent
    And blind.

    Liked by 2 people

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