Immaculate
There was never any good time
for that sort of discussion. She never
sat me down and put an arm
around me. It was only desperation
and anger that made her yell,
“He’s not yours, dammit. I went
out and I got drunk. I was so tired
of being on your pedestal that I
drank myself under it. I woke up alone
and there’s no such thing
as immaculate conception.”
Loosely inspired by this week’s ReadWritePoem prompt.
“tired of being on your pedestal and drank myself under it”
I love that. I know that feeling well.
Very concise, very spare, saying just what it needs to say and nothing else. (I also love the pedestal part.)
Rightly so…
That’s why I hate pedestals – it usually takes a drastic moment to come down off of one.
-Nicole
This is a great take on the prompt “being told a story.” I like that the story comes out of “desperation and anger.”
God, wonderful. I love the energy and the phrase “drank myself under it.”
i concurr–love the pedastal part!
i too have to say i am in love with the visual of “drank myself under it”… pedestal indeed……
ouch… all over it… how does one get on the pedestal and then determined to fall… i woke up alone… end of story… other than the guy whose desire is a little hug…
that was gut wrenching news. i love how you make me feel the experience of those folks who appear in your poetry.