Perspective

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 25, 2018

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Submitted: August 25, 2018

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My little sister was stuffed into a teapot.


Its waters are constantly boiling,
And she blames visions invisible to me.
I cradle the burning pot and begin to pour,
As if she’ll come back to me,
But her hair flows into my teacup,
As she refuses to come out,
But no one can see her stuck in her teapot,
And she can’t see the light outside,
Nor hear the cicadas chirp her name,
As the stars fall from wanting to meet her,
Yet the shadows stuff her back inside,
As the world sings to greet her,


She writes notebook after notebook of poems,
Eloquently portraying her teapot,
From it’s silky white handle,
To her corner in the ceramic house.
She paints the beasts,
Their spindle arms are belts wrapping around her throat,
Their sharp gnashing teeth drool the corpses they wish she’d become,
Becoming page after page in her books.
But each one winds up thrown away,
As she’s chosen to turn from her gift,
I wish to capture each wrinkled page,
Mounting them on wall after wall,
And give the cicadas a museum of her words to marvel at,


Each poem becomes stranger and more surprising than the last,
From within the teapot, cat’s meow symphonies of comfort,
As black horses raid the night,
Their hooves echoing from the streets,
But the only trace left behind,
Is the distant whinny of an overturned trash bin.
She’d sooner destroy,
her bible of words,
Feeding the fire with her glorious imagination,
As it’s fueled by poems once folded into origami hearts,
What light could possibly be created by a girl trapped in a teapot,
What light could be found in such a stifling crevice?!
And yet she’s found such power from this space,
But refuses to call upon her power and adore it,
I might as well have a teapot setting in my brain,
Pouring tears for every flame,
Every spark ignited,
Every work abandoned,


She holds a knife to the page,
And slits its throat,
As if this creation inside of her,
Is capable of death,
And with each cut,
Destroys pieces of her own heart,
She slides the strands through the spout,
And pretends they’ll disappear,


My sister is stuck inside of a teapot,
And refuses to come out.


© Copyright 2018 AnnaMarie Jenema. All rights reserved.

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