December 1, 2016

This is the Story of Sounding Awake. {Prose Poem}


And so.

All the worrying stopped. All the fingers on clocks and drums on heartbeats started squealing to one sacred tune.

All the rain fell to the same sweet sentiment and we all heard the rattle, the caw, the cradle and the fabric being stretched over the cushions of our flesh-hearts.

“Are you coming back?” the moon kept asking.

And I kept swearing I would stop my heart from breaking, but the pedals and the pushers and the little-lost caterpillars stroking the sides of my identity kept switching back and forth.

And so. And so. This is the rain, and so. This is the thunder of a brain and this is the rattle-snap-crack of a broken back laced with lacerations of love, liquid lust and the labors of being alive. This is the story of sounding awake.

She rounded the corner of the street, picked up her feet and plucked out her flower eyes from a few thousand nearby pots, and began to begin all over again. This time, time let her go.

This is the rain.

And finally, finally, finally—

this is enough.




Author: Lauren Suchenski

Image: Author’s Own

Editor: Travis May

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