Tattoo needle
Poetry / Permafrost Tattoo
Weathered that winter, but not well. Shuttling about the
streets even as the ice dug its claws in. Running from
the door of the apartment block to the wind shelter of the
car. Slow enough to avoid slipping, never fast enough to
keep the cold from wracking my bones. Pluming breath onto
the windshield, carrying a silent prayer that the
engine will turn over this time. This was before
God became persona non grata. Never said I didn’t
Believe, just refused to sing.
Storm of the Century came and left a
winter unmeltable in me. It was the only thing in the
papers once people began to dig their way back to
workplaces that had sat dormant for days. The
whole city hibernated and waited for the snow ploughs to
resurrect us. As it all turned to
water, saw a little more frost remained in
me. Some evident in my hair, most hidden
deep underground.
Seasons of death, rebirth, vigour, and
preparation. Everything has its place. There is
always a reason. You made me
feel again. Put a certain heated throb back where it
belonged. Puzzling over the glint of sun off the
ring you wore on the third finger of your left hand. Did the
silver skull represent something, or was that just the only finger it
fit on? You were there in the spring when the Great Flood came, as
the obstinately unprepared sat on the peaks of
roofs with damp ankles. First time I saw you in
short sleeves I blushed and spluttered like a
schoolgirl or an ‘86 Chevette. Didn’t think you were
really so colourful.
While everyone else obsessed over sandbags I
was shaken by your obvious show of nerves around me. You
needed milk for your coffee and bread to
make a sandwich. As the heavy rains helped the
mighty Red flex her aquatic muscle and leave thousands
desperate, I needed to be wet again, and there you were.
Shirtless, a hard life was even more
evident. Laying in your lap one night, in a
doubled, drunken stupor I tried to
distinguish one design from another. A castle here, a
wizard there. When the walls were full I
suppose you needed somewhere else for your graffiti.
Walked in on you in many ways. Weather-beaten eyes that
never quite lost that initial look of suspicion. When my
Roman hands could not assure you, I
whispered sincerity. You truly were the sexiest man I’d ever
met. The ground began to dry and we
talked surprisingly little for the distances we bridged. You tersely
confessed the oddest secrets, and I bought you a
garden gnome. Only when your heart changed with the
leaves did I think to show you what colours lay
within me.
Twelve to twenty-four, became forty-eight. There was
another, not quite as colourful, but similar in less
blinding ways. When the mauve and green grew out, I
adored the gunmetal grey. Just a friend this time, he
truly loved his plaid-skirted schoolgirl. After half a bowl of
seven-dollar soup, we walked through hammering
sun, which was portent to another brutal winter on
the way. A circle was drawn. After so many
cyclical seasons had been passed through it
was nothing. And nothing made me cry as
the needle bit my neck.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
November 18, 2006
Deleted User
Review of Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Well, I give you a 7 for accomplishing your goal, but what the hell do I know? And, I give you a 9 for your raggedy ass poem. It’s wonderful. You’ve got so many slippery images between those snow banks, a guy could break his back just trying to get to your house.
I see by your other reviewers that you’re well thought of and recognized for your excellence of word and formation. But, I’d like to question you about your line breaks. Is it a casual thing for you, or do your lines tell you where they want to be broken. For me, for many years this was a real problem. I think it is a problem for you, too. Not enough to keep you from success in your art; only enough to dull the edge of your genius.
- add/view comments (0)
November 18, 2006
Deleted User
Review of Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Holy hell, I loved this piece. It’s fluid and sexy and lovely with an edge. All seemingly contradictions but not in this piece. The meld rocks and the references to the body art and the changing seasons is exceptional, almost as well done as the last line but not quite. The last line is perfection. Don’t change one tat or one word…
Drake_Lightle reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I love the title…it’s a fitting metaphor for one of the longest, well-executed metaphors I’ve read on Urbis (I’d say anywhere, but that would be a lie…I’m fairly well-read).
I love your descriptive language, and you un-fold a good tale…true no doubt, yet full of meaning beyond and beyond the surface of the words…kind of like ink beneath the skin, or the blackness of frostbitten flesh.
I loved the ideas even more than I liked the execution…it could have been a short story as well as a ‘poem’...I’ll think of this one as prose verse. Nothing wrong with that, especially when it
s sopping wet with thawed meaning.
duskyshadows reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
This almost reads as prose, and if it that was your intention, you definitely accomplished that. I personally am not a big fan of prose-like poetry, but it can work. I enjoyed reading this, although the sheer quantity made it a little more difficult to enjoy.
Maxus_Sharp reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
The begining is moving. Action verbs, conditions described, it sets a nice tone/feeling for movement into the rest of the peice.
Refusing to sing is a nice convention.
I enjoy the notice of ring placement and the meaning you give it, and then immediately question.
I like your explination of chronology with the multiplication of hours.
This is excellent work. I like your pace, how you reveal only certain aspects of your adoration at a time. I really enjoyed reading this. Its just mysterious enough to make you wonder without being lost.
dolphiny reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I loved this piece and looked for a flaw but found none. I do hate to show my ignorance, however, in asking “What was the needle that bit your (her) neck?” Was this a metaphor of death?
Showing 1 - 6 of 6
Review item
Add to favesCreator
Relevant Links
Item Stats
GENERAL
6 Reviews 1 Comment
Version 1
Latest Activity: over 2 years ago
REVIEW QUEUE
Appeared in Queue: 0 Times
Skipped: 0 Times
Ratings & Rankings
