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CYNTHIA RUTH LEWIS
Self-Preservation They try to tell me it's my tainted past that's caught up with me all the sins of my youth now cracking the bone, splitting the skin, poisoning the soul... who are they trying to kid? As fragile and fleeting as this world is, my memories are the only thing holding me together Lady-Luck It had been that kind of morning; the pelvic cramping and blood spotting warning me of a possible loss I wanted to turn down our big trip to Reno; we'd planned months in advance for it, mapping our course, saving our money, hoping to hit it big to dig us out of the hole we were in, never expecting a third person to come along for the ride I didn't think I should go-- thought I should stay off my feet, knowing there might still be a chance to redeem, however slim, but I give in, sitting motionless in the car; quiet, watching life slip by through the window, moments gone in the blink of an eye; you, even unaware of the situation, chatter endlessly on, taking my silence as mere trepidation of losing The casino looms like an all-knowing demon. I follow you, unseeing, through the overly-bright building, hearing coins dropping, bells ringing, everybody happy and carefree, and me, knowing there would be no sense in fighting a battle already halfway lost, walking freely amongst the happy people, a murderer of hope, a bucket of coins clutched tight in my sweating grasp, abusing each precious moment, eventually pushing the coin through the slot, pulling the lever, taking my chances, knowing the ball had already dropped, now rolling completely beyond reach, no stopping at all, no going back Images Sitting limply next to me on the front seat, you still had strength enough to lick my face, even though I had brought you to a place where you wouldn't come back Loving you more than life, I tried to bolster myself while slipping the keys from the ignition, your one, unbandaged eye trained weakly on me, awaiting my touch on your now-gray fur as I sat, pushing the minutes away, trying to fight another outburst, finally pulling you roughly from the car to pretend I didn't care, not feeling the sun warm on my back, or your tangle of fur soft in my hands, watching the bandage loosen and fall free, the small patch of bloody gauze so vivid against the dingy pavement the only image I remember clearly before taking you inside to die Cynthia Ruth Lewis: I'm 38, having written poetry for the past 17 years. Currently back in the publishing world after having taken a 2 year hiatus due to creative apathy and temporary insanity-- which, actually may have enhanced my writing. It has certainly enhanced my weirdness. |
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