Poetry/Stories inspired by “Elvis Costello-Veronica” David L O’Nan & Pasithea Chan

Twine Years by David L O’Nan

Ever since I remember as a little boy
my grandmother much younger than I actually thought
She appeared to be lost and looking for the lost sunset all day
Another cloud goes by and she smiles and says "it is about to become really pretty out here."

She would sit in on a knotted wood framed chair and watch her world disappear as the moon came out to remind her for a moment of who she is. As she twisted some twine together hoping to someday make more blankets and sweaters.

The woman with style at the 1950's ballroom halls.
The men would look and she'd flash her ring
A quick look at her military man in a picture frame. Smiling in the dust that buries the room.  Her yellow wedding dress sits in the attic.

She remembers the walks in the park with her lost friends.
She remembers the children as they were children.
She remembers the kicking and jumping, the twirls of immortality.
By the beach she would splash for hours with a wagging tail dog.
She remembers the endless fashions she would help mature a town from rags to class.

She looks blank and cries to a mass of blanket that she has been working on for weeks.
Was that military man remembered for his drunkened slams of fists against the walls?
The accusations he'd proclaim as he ran with the mice in packs to the whores and sweating out Sunday mornings. Dripping, stained and stinking in a plaid jackets.

I have to calm her down.  I play the "The Nutcracker" on a record player, as she masks herself back into a ballet.   She begins to sway arms slowly but surely.  I feel she is on that endless dancefloor again.
Or was she ever?  Was she just imagining a time when she was free again?

About 6 months later I had lost this Angel to the dance away.  The sunsets would always come. Even in the darkest of storms.

She'd say on her last days " I want to Remember You, but I can't" " I want to know all children and tell them not to be afraid"

Now i'm in my 40's I see another older woman.  Struggling to remember most days.  Does she mimic this dance?  The mother I
always depend on.   Will I finally have to learn to be myself?  I wait for the sunset for hours by the river. Always curious if she is also looking for that same spinning sunset that seems endless and impeccable and immovable. Has it moved all these years?

Fidgeting with the jute twine.  Where can I go hide? 

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.


I Am Here Veronica by Pasithea Chan

I went to see you yesterday like I do every weekend, but like
Always we’ve just met over lunch, and I have to introduce
Myself to you and tell you all about me once again.

Hell is when you look at me doubtfully 
Even though I know you feel me trying to
Reach out to you and reassure you that
Even if you forget me I will never forget you.

Vivid fails to describe how witty and colorful you are in
Everything you do from how you show me your hairpins to how you
Reminisce the good days when you used to paint 
Out in the backyard and talk about how you met the love of your life.
Never did I imagine I would have to explain why he can’t come and see you
I have to find the strength to not grab you and tell you I miss you 
Cause it hurts so much to remind you that I love you with
All my heart and give you back some of the pieces you’ve lost.

Author’s Notes: Acrostic spelling I Am Here Veronica, inspired by the song “ Veronica” by Elvis Costello. 



By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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