Words by Nathalie Babineau-Griffiths
Missed Connections in Las Vegas
Words
words
don’t have any borne in anger
nor particularly sad
just resigned
grown people surprised
when pricked by thorns, even as they play in the bramble
looking for sweets
like waiting to die
the promise of seamless perfection
eyes focused on heavenly reward
overlooking the magic
that boils like dust around footsteps
benchmarks like clockwork
terrible twos: the power of no
adolescent rite of passage
bar mitzvah, quinceanera
third degree burns, debrided
pick and choose the slices of me
that you would dispense with…
and who am I then?
crystal ball into the past
quick temper walks away
perhaps to pen another fuck you poem
to the raw nerve process
acceptable, understandable, inevitable
wonder at the me that lives on someone else’s hard drive
old words, old photos
spiderwebbed framework a prison
a cloak rendering me invisible
hush
from beyond the veil comes a whisper
walk in beauty
~ Susie Hewitt, that crazy Las Vegas poet
Her Two Cents
What are the bits and pieces of ourselves that live on in the world of others? Letters written, emails sent, photos stores in albums and folders, bits and bytes stored in memories both organic and machine. Beautifully invisible, screaming whispers, all our stimuli is presented for others to choose from whether we realize (or like) it or not.
