NaPoWriMo Poem #22: Homecoming

Come home.
Wonder if this is really home.
Feel the air cling to and buzz on your skin
as you exit the plane.
Watch neon write poems
with the glare and hiss of brilliant letters like slit veins
on the darkened windshield of the taxi cab
that pulls up to the curb.
Feel your throbbing head scintillate
as the night slowly pours into your eyes and ears. Watch it
compete with the footage of the last three days
as it loops around your brain, pulling you forward
to the inevitability of an angry stage
about to break under your collective weight.
Rehearse what you are going to say
as you assume the stage.
Wonder if you really do
have anything to say at all.

Enter the cab.
Feel the film loop around your cerebrum
constrict, the snake growing meaner, fiercer, tighter.
Remember the shouting in your ears,
the declarations of one’s own slavery: passports,
laws, clothing.
Replay that last moment when you assumed a stage
and lay yourself on an altar alongside a dozen others,
removing clothes, pleading to the audience before you:
wake up!
Half-watch the streets buzz, hiss, and slur by your window
as you write missives in your head with borrowed words,
buzzing nerves, and your own indignation.
Watch the umbra of an old family photo creep up
into your consciousness: chase it away like
so much detritus left over after
cars on a desert highway collide.

Exit the cab.
Feel the outer wall of your heart collapse
by the horn blasts of an unseen, circling army.
Watch the buglers’ calls march up your nerves,
light upon the hairs on the back of your neck.
Down a beer to chase the army away.
And then another.
And then another.
Keep chasing them until the army drowns,
a pack of hapless Egyptians asphyxiating in your Red Sea
on whatever you can find to kill them off.

Enter the auditorium.
Feel the sonorous drumbeat of a ticking clock slowly die
as your nerves and mind become lambent,
lighting up amber like the beer you have been ingesting.
Rehearse your missives again inside your brain.
Climb up to the stage. Inhale. Exhale.
Grab a passing measure of music and climb on, riding it in crest
over the unsuspecting crowd before you.
Rehearse your missives again. Inhale. Exhale.
Dismount, and begin delivery.
Feel the stage buckle and bow beneath the collective weight
of the four of you.
Inhale. Exhale. Rage on.
When the crowd shuts their ears, threaten to disrobe.
Perform tauromachy with the crowd using your
unzipped fly and boxer shorts as a cape.
Inhale. Exhale. Rage on.
When it is all over, exit the stage.
Hope that you finally had something to say.

Written 4/28/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
Once again into Aspie-land: special interest time. In case you haven’t guessed, this poem is about the infamous Miami Incident with The Doors on March 1, 1969. I wrote this based on accounts by the surviving band members as well as other materials I have read about the incident. I hope you enjoyed the poem.



About ravenswingpoetry

I am a 38 year old writer from Columbus, OH and the creator of Raven's Wing Poetry. I am a poet, seeker, fellow traveler, and autistic.
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