“The future is a past that has not yet come to pass. Do you ever suddenly find it strange to be yourself?” –Clarice Lispector

The hollow monotony vibrates through porous mouths. Intoxication of sky lodges its devouring yawn between humans and me. Cigarettes blind the muttering gestures of chronic language. Overdressed meals and hearsay crumble their butts in the ashtray. I flaunt idle. Eyes vast and explosive as Ukraine.

Raging internal desire emanates from Mother’s wheelchair on the balcony. Particles of her are unable to spark synapses of flames she used to implode. My power basks in solitude. Can a story parch a death? Mother is bathed in my spellbound pallor of promise. I detonate her with stories, plays, endings obese with resurrection.

Mother dies. I shut-up. A pain of shriveled control affronts and tags me as a charlatan. I believe in my spindled prose. My childhood is huge and envelopes even the most passive semen from extended brethren. ‘Fresh flesh’ they pin me. Haughty cousins, uncles raw with the junk of their sewage take me as their inheritance.

Vague reality is rudderless past lives. My power lies in lack of memories and visions.

7 Comments

  1. Robert Vaughan

    Another beauty, in your signature Tuite masterful prose- verbs as nouns, lakes as volcanoes! My only suggestion for this one might be to highlight all of the pronouns (I and my) and see if you might alter or possible delete a few.

    I hope you had fun playing this weekend. I always am so much happier when I get to read a new Meg Tuite flash/ prose poem. Next book, please?!!!

  2. David O'Connor

    Meg, whenever I read your work, like Clarice, I feel you are capturing the now, living in this second, nowhere else but the text, and for me that is the point of writing. I love the last line. And: explosive as Ukraine, endings obese with resurrection, and this—Mother dies. I shut-up.—juxtaposition is worthy of Camus… so good, so now, so thank you!

  3. John Steines

    Hey Meg. This is a whoosh of a story, and I love how I feel that I slide along the lines up and down this way, that way, like a roller coaster. After the ‘passing’ obligation (Mother), the rest of the family/scenario disintegrates into this inescapable nonstop because of:
    ‘…passive semen from extended brethren. ‘Fresh flesh’ they pin me. Haughty cousins, uncles raw with the junk of their sewage take me as their inheritance.’ A net, trap, the author is caught in still wiggling it’s way through mayhem. Love the way you end this: ‘My power lies in lack of memories and visions.’ Cheers.

  4. Chelsea Stickle

    You have a great opening and closing sentence. Everything in between is heavy with reality. I suppose I do find it strange to be myself.

  5. Nancy Stohlman

    This could be a title (for this or other things): I believe in my spindled prose. (xo)
    Lovely, as always. My usual gushing here xoxoxo But I wondered about the quote (and you had quotes before the one from yesterday too)? Love it, of course. Brilliant minds and great quotes. But I wonder if it takes away the punch from you, it steals that first sentence power real estate away from YOUR first sentence? Just a thought?? xoxoxo

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