Near the Bottom in Ellum
Sorry to disappoint you
I am unpracticed at being
Naked
so bear with me-
I am wearing an empty dress
So tired of trying to make this beautiful
My mind is filling up with intolerable air
Black sap
nothingness
I wanted to tell you when I heard the sky sizzle in Texas.
The way he touched me
Like touching a hot wire fence
How we are
So ready to hurt
I watched a man birthed from the heart of Ellum.
He said his head emerged from the rocks. I say the city
swallowed him seconds-Before
......the traveler caught the train
He took me to the Deep Down Cafe
............We stared at the Elms
............painted on the red brick wall
I apologized for not being more
Alive
For running after the child
Who cannot be trusted with berries.
Now here I stand
Rising/Falling
Letting the slowest wind work
Its death around us
I wanted to tell you
But my voice has softened like a page of white birds.
After gallivanting around much of the Midwestern and North Eastern states, Jaime Shea currently lives in rural Arkansas. She has a background in Psychology and performing arts and a passion for creative writing, poetry, and photography. Her poetry, essays, technical and freelance writing can be found in publications including The Cabinet of the Solar Plexus, Etc: A Review of General Semantics, About the River Valley, The ATU Writer, and, of course, numerous bottom drawers and recycling bins.
Sorry to disappoint you
I am unpracticed at being
Naked
so bear with me-
I am wearing an empty dress
So tired of trying to make this beautiful
My mind is filling up with intolerable air
Black sap
nothingness
I wanted to tell you when I heard the sky sizzle in Texas.
The way he touched me
Like touching a hot wire fence
How we are
So ready to hurt
I watched a man birthed from the heart of Ellum.
He said his head emerged from the rocks. I say the city
swallowed him seconds-Before
......the traveler caught the train
He took me to the Deep Down Cafe
............We stared at the Elms
............painted on the red brick wall
I apologized for not being more
Alive
For running after the child
Who cannot be trusted with berries.
Now here I stand
Rising/Falling
Letting the slowest wind work
Its death around us
I wanted to tell you
But my voice has softened like a page of white birds.
After gallivanting around much of the Midwestern and North Eastern states, Jaime Shea currently lives in rural Arkansas. She has a background in Psychology and performing arts and a passion for creative writing, poetry, and photography. Her poetry, essays, technical and freelance writing can be found in publications including The Cabinet of the Solar Plexus, Etc: A Review of General Semantics, About the River Valley, The ATU Writer, and, of course, numerous bottom drawers and recycling bins.
