Saturday, December 17, 2022

Sharp Edge of the Spoon


Spoon feeding in the long run teaches us nothing but the shape of the spoon.
E. M. Forster

There was no spoon feeding life to me,
gentle nibbles from a mind set on
sugar coating there would be more
days of blackberry thorned hours than sweet pudding.

How does one speak of horror 
to a child who trusts fairytales
grow reality from glittered imaginations?

I learned so very young monsters 
don’t leave when a storybook presses
them between its pages…They stalk you
at dinner tables, in empty rooms,
within the sound of voices oblivious
to screams trapped in the cage of your throat.

In the oddity of breathing terror circumstances turned
me comedian, precocious child full of questions,
a crybaby at scratches while silent in the clutches
of a demon.

In the etiquette of spoons never judge
the one who doesn’t hold it correctly. 
She may be a survivor who’d rather
eat the soup than explain why she
doesn’t have an affinity for shallow silver.

©Susie Clevenger 2022

The Sunday Muse #240

Sunday, December 4, 2022

Chalk Lines in Lace


Her wedding feels like chalk lines
marking the demise of freedom.
Love is blind until all the pretty lace
expectations get torn into dreamer’s compost.
Conflated vanilla odes written about
‘til death do us part’ never mention
death can come with its coffin while
the heart still beats, or the spirit can starve
on the gruel of monotony.
Candor bites its tongue, worries words
into origami butterflies when it is the lone
voice of reason in the hymn notes of glitter.
Like an induced birth piano keys urge
her heels to walk an aisle she questions,
yet fears to deny because a day of assumptions
is so beautifully candlelit she doesn’t want to be its failure.
“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”
― Oscar Wilde
 ©Susie Clevenger 2022