The First Of The First Of Every
We sit in a meadow, looking up at the sun until we’re looking at stars. Laying in a fairytale. Every inhale is lavender and every exhale is silk.
As her head laid on my lap, I stroked her hair gently and it was my way of telling her how beautiful the moment was and of the perfection I found in it. Her stillness told me that she loved it too.
I stroked her hair lovingly. I stroked it caressingly until I realized my hand was red and wet. I cleaned it with my shirt and tried to forget. “Shh, ” I whispered to her and held her closer.
Then after a moment, it came back for me. How did it find me? It slithered out from her gaping jaw, onto her shoulder and then onto my arm. It was biting me! I threw her from my lap and her body flailed into the grass, landing face down with limbs sprawled. In a panic, I rolled in the grass and dirt, squirming to get the monster away from me.
Fighting it would never work, so I ran back to her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! ” I cried. She was quiet but I knew she forgave me. I kissed the purple parts of her face and shoulder.
On her ankle, more were peeking through. She loved me and I knew she understood. I couldn’t leave her now when she needed me.
Right. I was the right one. That boy who thought he loved her and thought they were meant to be, he was wrong. I took her from him. I saved her soul and that’s why she loved me. I will always protect her from him. Love is morbid and violent and harsh. I would be any and all of that for her because I needed to.
Message on her grave appeared. Not on stone but in a note: a note written to a stone but to be read by no one. A note of passion whose words were choked out of a noose.
Every time I read it, I growl in frustration and regret. The message was three words I could never accept. They meant the end to my destiny. He outsmarted me. He stole her! Those words were a dagger in between ribs. I would not dare speak of them but if you look closely, you’ll find it.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (The First Of The First Of Every by Nadia Figueroa )
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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