finch: (ocd)
Jack ([personal profile] finch) wrote in [community profile] rainbowfic2017-04-08 01:29 am

Cloud White: Red Sky in the Morning

Name: Jack
Story: Empty Sky
Colors: Cloud White
Supplies and Styles: Saturation, Graffiti
Word Count: ~750
Warnings: references to suicide
Notes: "Sure, I can write a saturation of different poems in character, but can I write a saturation that is ALSO a single poem in character?" Robin at a low point.

he says, look at the big picture
seven thousand meters beyond
anything I can control
yet I see him watch
as I decide what to do
my responsibility
wisps of indecision on a sunny day

it looks soft from here
curled high and white like my grandmother's hair
welcoming and smelling softly of jasmine
lilac, childhood, ginger, red pepper
back when she was perfect

come closer, thicker, heavier
weighed down, swollen and dark
regrets ready to break through
glowing soft and angry as
LEDs in the dark when you're trying to sleep

today I walk down the boardwalk
I've lost track of the ocean
the sound is still there, lapping against the pier
but the clouds have come even closer
giving me a good look
I've lost all perspective

or I didn't inherit it
where would it come from,
one exploded and one collapsed inward?
black pepper and cinnamon,
damp paper and machine oil,
two worlds in a single house

I am light in a prism
bent and split open
showing wires of every color
red and blue capillaries,
copper, aluminum, black electrical tape

today I walk down the boardwalk
I'm squinting, suspicious of everyone
these people only appear under the sun
like mirages and all eyes

the wind is kicking up
tourists skittering away like rats
when the drops hit me
I think of rust and shudder
crumbling is nothing new
I fall apart all the time
I'm used to it, puzzle pieces
worn soft around the edges

when they turn from me, it's sideways
a crabwalk away. The thunderclouds
reflect my mood. Maybe I called them.

I'd join them if I could
but I might rust

today I walk down the boardwalk
as the sun breaks through
the lightning disappears like
friendship and good ideas

at night when sleep laughs from the corners
there's no light in the windows
moon and stars and streetlamps alike
are hiding from that cruel laughter

at morning, the sky is red as my eyes
rust hiding in the corners where tear ducts leak
til I rub them clean and yawn
in my dreams he was-

well, it doesn't matter
the shapes in the clouds can mean anything

above, they shift and twist
the slate gray pulled across the sky
is not at all the color of the robes he favored
the wind bellows louder than the tugboats
it's not raining, the water
comes from all directions
and I'm soaked through

the towels are warm when I leave the shower
absorbent enough that I stop thinking of rust
it's easy to keep one wrapped around me
all day as I move from one window to another
staring at nothing

thinking of nothing important
looking away fast when it comes to me
moving along to the next
view and the next project
anything to keep from thinking

I can't sleep and I go down
one bare foot and one angry thump at a time
over the boards to the water's edge
staring it down like it'll answer for what it took

it's too easy to wander
into places I don't need to be
when the winds are obscuring my view
I haven't moved
but I'm not sure where I am
burning myself on the soldering iron
I curse and shove my palm under water

the red welt hurts every time
I move my hand
looking for where I came from
I know he's back there
I left him there
but I'm still thinking-

the shapes in the clouds can mean anything
so I trace outlines there
the empty space in which I am not
thinking of him

I would climb down to meet him
in dark shallows, to be swallowed
but I don't trust my leg on the ladder

I don't want to drown
by accident, only with intent,
only with pockets weighed down
with screws and springs and paperwork
not flailing like a knot of lost ribbon
after a festival

if I were willing to go without dignity
I'd have gone before I got to the ICU
or while I was there
begging for ice chips
not getting them
floating toward consciousness at high tide

the sunset is being chased aside
by the storm. I can taste it in my mouth,
a song of anger and reaching out
the long pause between when the lightning streaks
and when drops fall
the clouds too vicious to hold any shape
thunder too close to tell me anything
rootsofthestories: (misc: storms)

[personal profile] rootsofthestories 2017-04-08 12:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Oh wow, this is wonderful and has so many little pieces that I loved creating a great whole.
bookblather: A picture of Yomiko Readman looking at books with the text "bookgasm." (Default)

[personal profile] bookblather 2017-04-22 02:44 am (UTC)(link)
Oh wow, this is incredible. What a great use of the color, and the poem.