Welcome to the Slant, where you'll find reviews and original writings by the members of Martin Library's Teen Advisory Board.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Poem: Taxi

by Tristan
 
Keep the painting up; no need to take it
 down. Yes, leave it. The way it was before, don't
change it, can't change it, don't like it that way.
 It's good the way it was; no, leave it, leave it.
 I'll fix it later. Bring her in here? When it's finished.
Not too soon. Hurry, she'll be here, must be ready.
 Waited too long for this, can't wait any longer, must be ready, must have it finished. The way
she wanted it. God, so tired, so tired, but no
time today or any tomorrow, she'll be here then and
 it'll be just the way it was before and she won't
have changed at all, I promise, not changed at all.
She's coming back today, did you know that? I
told you, I know, I know, can't stop thinking about it.

 You know that. Sorry. No, no, move that table over
 here, and it needs something to go on it-bring mom's
 vase down from the attic, I'll go cut some flowers.
Don't forget the water. Water for the
 flowers. She doesn't like her bed by the window. Doesn't
like the sun in her face like that anymore. She used to
sleep under the window-she liked it to wake her up

 in the morning, but I guess the sun is colder in
 the city, and it moves too fast. She needs to slow down.
That's why she's coming back. She doesn't want to remember
 the city. She wants to forget about being away, and I'm glad
 of it, glad she's back. Was afraid I'd lost her, isn't that silly? Stupid
 of me. Nothing will have changed, we'll be kids again, I promise.
Then you can stop by and visit, after she's back in her old room,
and we can sit out on the porch, all of us. Mom will be there too,
 the way she always was. And nothing will have changed. The house
won't be empty anymore.
Not that vase! The other one, the
 one with the flowers on them, I forget what they're called. I don't think they're real
flowers anyway, one of us painted them on the vase in school. They're just flowers, and
Mom kept the vase. I don't know why, I would have thrown it out if
someone gave it to me. Always hated that vase,
 hated it, oh, maybe we shouldn't bring it out after all. Why
 would anyone want that in their room? She'll hate it. No, it'll do.
 Don't have a choice. Maybe she won't
notice. Here, I've cut some roses from the trellis, do you think she'll like
 them? I think she will. No, I know she will. There weren't any flowers
 in the city. She'll have missed
them. She won't
 have changed a bit,
 I know it.
 I know it.
There's the taxi.

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