Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

It's April 24th Again.

I wrote a big post last year on April 24th to commemorate the 15 year anniversary of the horrible van accident that I was in in college. Now it's sixteen years past. I think I pretty much said it all last year.

It's interesting to me that, over the course of the past few days, vulgarweed and I have reconnected in a friendly way. In the wake of the accident, she wrote a poem which I have always loved, and have always kept a copy of. I'd like to share it with everyone now:

Barricades Broken (Roadside Shrine)

Highways are sustaining veins, breath for the beast,
a panting oxygen of fear.
Pointed into morning, the space between green ghost signs
is hunger.
To be late is to be lost in cracks of time; the shreds of peace
dangle from telephone lines,
and every death on the highway is a murder.

Have you stopped feeling that wrenching?
Do you remember the night when the echo stopped,
became a part of you that you did not have to
think about anymore, like your lungs, like your
dreams? (As nightmare sinks into the past it
pushes memory backwards. Counting mileposts
of madness, pushing back against the darkness,
I find I cannot remember whether or not he
wore glasses. To save myself, I guess: I think
he did not.) Little shards of our maps sink into
the earth where you landed.

Windshield wipers, get this wet forgetting
static away from my eyes. Clearly now, I find
I cannot stop staring at the gentle strange smiles
of the dead; in this matter of moving forward it
seems he got there first. The face that was hidden behind its
bandanna from cameras now beams free in my mind, not
forgiving or cursing, just purely absorbed
in this business of haunting. Comrade, turn gasoline
into wine for me. Show me the irony I've missed,
tell me there are no highways in heaven, show me what's
beyond this need for revolutions. How many masks were
there, ripped from your face the night that this different
story started, when the flash pushed you deep into the
violence of stillness? This offering of words is almost
as mortal as highways, laid out like food for the wind
to eat in your name.
Watch it burned so dull by your newborn face, frozen forever
as bright as it was on your last long day of love and rage.

I will forever carry that day around with me. It may not resonate as loudly as it once did, but it will forever give me pause. So much was lost that day. It was the end of my childhood.


( 5 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 24th, 2006 04:21 am (UTC)
great poem.

Can I post it in my LJ (credited of course)...I would like to read it again later
Apr. 24th, 2006 04:23 am (UTC)
The credit goes to vulgarweed (aka Monica K.). I've emailed and let her know that I posted this, but have yet to hear back. Her email address is on her user info page. She's the one to ask, not me.
Apr. 24th, 2006 12:08 pm (UTC)
I remember that post from last year. it was moving.
Apr. 24th, 2006 12:36 pm (UTC)
Thanks so much. (You're totally welcome to use the poem; I'm honored) It's wrenching to remember, but it's important.
Apr. 24th, 2006 01:54 pm (UTC)
There is one line in particular which has always and forever echoed inside my head:

in this matter of moving forward, it seems he got there first
( 5 comments — Leave a comment )

Latest Month

March 2015


Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by yoksel