Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Archive for the tag “ramblings”

The Death of a Butterfly

Once, when I was around five or six, I found the most beautiful monarch caught in the grill of my dads Chevy Nova. I remember thinking that maybe I could fix it as the Iowa wind made its wings flutter once more. Who knows how long it had been there, or if it suffered any. Small children don’t think about those things, we think simple, concrete things–like “can I make it fly again?”

And I believed I could. I used to believe in a lot of things back then. and part of me still does. I remember my right knee being bandaged up from wrecking my bike the day before, and how I cried as I watched the blood form a crooked, thin line down my shin. The band-aids were 12 hours old dirty and worn by this time as I sat on my knees in the gravel drive, in front of the car with the monarch. 

The right-wing felt dry against my small fingertip and it crumpled like an oak leaf in the fall beneath my pressure. Bits of orange and black stained the tip a bit, as I watched in horror at what I had just done. 

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If You Were Here..I would tell you…This.

Tonite is one of those nights where you get cozy in my thoughts. You take your time pulling out that old pillow and comforter and graciously let yourself in. I don’t think about you like I used too. Time has healed in the most gentle way. Though tonight my heart is as heavy as a load of bricks left behind. Bricks from our families recently demolished barn. I hurt-and my jaw aches like it did back in the day when I sported head gear.. Just to think that maybe I could have avoided feeling this way had I not heard that song. But then it is better to feel something than not at all…

You were not alone-though you felt like you were. Days where he knocked you down low enough that you lost that courageous spark. This could have been fixed with a barefoot trip down memory lane and some sleep at my place. Tomorrow had so much to offer. Though I am almost 15 years too late..

When I think about those first few months you were gone. How I would drive hours just to pass through your town. Steve Wariner “Holes in the Floor of Heaven” would play on the radio and I would swear that I could feel you. It would rain-only those few minutes I passed through Fairmont and then the sun would shine as I kept driving West on I-90.

I never knew how bad you were hurting-because you didn’t reach out. Instead he chose to finish the novel before you even had time to begin it. Not considering those who depended on you for tomorrow. Taking with it the one truly inspiring piece that turned people’s heads. You. Brandi my sister- my friend and my angel.

http://www.mcbw.org/files/u1/femicide1998.pdf

http://www.nisv.info/minnesota.htm

Grandmother’s Loose Buttons

We were like condensed soup.

No liquid to make our time together consistent,

Let alone feed our hunger.

We were like crabgrass,

Spurns that slowly eat into the bottom of a foot.

No patches to cover up the bloods slow pouring tears.

To clean up the mess of shit that’s been left behind.

We were irrational and impulsive,

Ignorant of the seasons which stood against us.

They knew we-

Were not.

We were our grandmother’s loose buttons,

Just carelessly placed in a baby pink Sadler sugar bowl.

Sinking down among granules.

I lift my head; I can taste bits of sweetness on my tongue as it dissolves,

And fades away.

Never there.

Closing my eyes,

I feel your lips frame around mine.

Tight like a zipper.

Never again.

I long to face the storm’s currents.

My mouth puckered up slowly,

Blowing through that flimsy yellow wand.

As bubbles form, then snap against my nose.

Under pressure, and cold.

The seasons against them.

 Image

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