Monday, December 30, 2013

Twenty Spent (A Poem)

At twenty I found it strange
The way college kids
Would touch each other,
Each eye roll and busy
Intersection kiss
Meaningless advances
In vintage movie theatres,
Over stale popcorn
And self-spiked soda,
As if any mere act
Or aliveness or vitality
Were a forced nerve-strum
To stroke the sleeping
Dreams of sixteen.
As for me, I preferred
The less dramatic approach,
I’d hide the raccoon-shadows
Of my study-weary eyes
Behind book stacks,
Fiction and poetry,
All my early Wednesdays
A library maze of
Rolling footstools and
The heart of me that wound
The beat of itself against
A wire-cage of words,
And the cool, dark hands
Of a South American boy,
His tales of burning villages
And doctoral degrees,
Kissing the inner eye
Of my own dreams,
Teaching me to persevere
Against the set-backs,
The main stream.
His voice a black jet
That flew the isles of my mind,
A carry-weight of my twenties,
The exit sign of an excile,
The kiss that swam

A fishbowl of his new America.

**Written for a prompt at MindLoveMisery.


  1. " As if any mere act
    Or aliveness or vitality
    Were a forced nerve-strum
    To stroke the sleeping
    Dreams of sixteen." I really loved this section! Brilliant work Stacy =) I hope you are enjoying your holidays

  2. Learning from eachother perhaps?
    Great writing.

  3. wow...he was quite the companion then...more than just awakening the sex it sounds like how opened plenty of other doors for you as well...

  4. I think a person can learn from every relationship; and it sounds like this one has lived with you! I like:

    "Kissing the inner eye
    Of my own dreams"

  5. I love the Anne Sexton quote! This is fantastic writing and I was ready to stand up and cheer when I got to your glorious closing lines. Bravo!

  6. I specially like this part: Kissing the inner eye
    Of my own dream

    Nice to meet you ~

  7. Enchanting, honest and artfully expressed - rich writing which I admire.. So will be back for more, for sure... With Best Wishes Scott

  8. I too love the kissing of the inner eye--really a refreshing read!

  9. I thought it was Che Guevera, what do I know!? My favorite part is the library, hiding with piles of books, rubbing against "a wire cage of words"--and thats where the boy enters with hands, tales, perseverence, and voice. So, ok, it's hot enough to be a physical presence. I twined myself through this poem. Thanks.

  10. As a teenager i am where you were at twenty, though i haven't found THAT guy yet. I can so relate to this poem.


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