Written Out Loud

It Happens Every Time (Working Title)

Kiki Brown — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 00:31:59 +0000

Crashing on to the door, ripping at each other; push and pull. “I wasn’t expecting this.” He hurriedly kissed her neck and tugged slightly on her hair, making their way to the bed “I wasn’t expecting any of this.” He knew exactly what he was setting himself up for. An intelligent young woman, she knew what he had on his mind when he invited her home.

“Bullshit.” Smiling, she kissed him hard on the mouth. When she pulled away he was looking directly into her eyes. He wanted her to know the pain he felt being with her; betrayal, a guilt that tore him up. Afraid of what she was unable to read in his eyes, she looked away, giggled; trying too hard to be cute.

It was too late, the moment was lost. He wasn’t ready for her. In one word she crippled him, derailed the moment. It took only one word to knock him back into reality, to remind him of what he’d repressed. No matter how turned on he’d been by her moments earlier, there was only one thing on his mind now. A woman, the woman; the one he loved.

She leaned in to kiss his cheek but he recoiled,”What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Then kiss me.” She placed a delicate hand on his cheek, again he turned from her.

Minutes felt like hours of long silence between the two of them sitting in his bed. She was staring at him, waiting for his eyes to meet hers; searching for reassurance. He only stared off at the wall, aware of her, desperately wishing she’d leave.

“She’s not coming back.” The words fell coldly and slow off her lips, tasting of steel. His head quickly jerked. She had his full attention. She’d said what he couldn’t stand to hear, resentment and fear welling up within him. His eyes were a spot light and she had stage fright, whispering, “It’s over, she’s not coming back.”

Emotions flickered, cold indignation to the alarm of a little boy who had been told there isn’t a Santa Clause. That was the moment she knew it was over. He needed protection. He needed a mother, not a lover.

Again they sat in silence, him staring into space, shocked and nauseous from distress, wishing he was dead. He jolted, shook his head, aware now of a noise. Footsteps in the hall, on the stairs. His heart raced for a brief second, hoping it was her, she’d come home. He looked around the room and noticed she’d gotten dressed and left. The footsteps in the hall were hers leaving.

The door slammed shut; his body crashed back into bed.

Prose

Kiki Brown — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 16:00:58 +0000

I was trying to sleep,

it was 6 am.

He was busy weaving floral arrangements around trombones in our bed. I resentfully moved around him, trying to stay out of the way of his artistic endeavor. I woke up in the summer sun under his arm. Clippings and leaves, petals stuck to our legs. Calla lilies rose from the ground beneath us like the fields of corn I played in as a child. I picked them and threw them at him, still angry from last night.

Prose

Kiki Brown — Tue, 26 May 2009 00:00:14 +0000

I hung up the phone as the rotting tree branch broke from my parents old cherry tree. It landed right in the middle of the drive way, blocking the path. I knew in that moment we were never going to be friends again. Life had spun us around and around until we were dizzy enough to run in different directions. I’d collided into buildings and concrete and glass laden streets and wasn’t ready to give it up.

I guess there comes a time in every persons life when they have to stop holding onto high school friendships that couldn’t survive college separation. I guess there is a time to stop pretending we still have each other’s backs. I guess he already did.

Dear Sister,

Kiki Brown — Thu, 14 May 2009 22:34:32 +0000

Like everyday, sitting

I write the letter

to you I always meant to send

It always begins

always the same

dear sister, I hope

to find you

well

It was the letter

I always began

It was every word caught

on my tongue

every sound

it came out wrong

I only meant to tell you

what cannot be said

out loud

Baptism

Kiki Brown — Sat, 02 May 2009 22:15:58 +0000

I sat in the park as the sun was rising.

Junkie by the water fountain

nearby, a child drawing with chalk.

coexistence on the “right side of town”

Junkie grabs his face in one hand at the jaw

looks at the sky

and screams

North 5th St.

Kiki Brown — Sat, 02 May 2009 21:54:19 +0000

I rode and rode and pedaled

myself breathless

on tequila soaked streets

pounding bass coming up

and passing, angrily spewing vibrations

echoing into the city behind me

no one else seems to notice.

That’s when I saw her.

On the corner with

her bike in hand. She called out to me and I stopped.

a boy to our left is drunk and stumbles past us

drops his bottle at his feet and falls to his knees

like shouting a prayer

alcohol projecting from his lips.

Sequel:

Kiki Brown — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 22:33:00 +0000

Dearly departed sister

dried out veins

six feet below

I weep for you

I wonder

………….. Where?

For my sister lost 1000 miles ago

Kiki Brown — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 22:19:52 +0000

such promise lost

…….. 1000 miles ago

questions run almost as fast as you

sweet sister, so strong and courageous

did you know

I wanted to be just like you

you’ve left

….. me wanting

………… to resurrect you

………… to avenge you

the masks we wear

now reveal

…….. what I tried to hide

…….. what I try to show

I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing my ghost

North 5th St. (Chapter 6)

Kiki Brown — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 20:18:44 +0000

A flicker, a glimmer, a heartbeat
Morse code light beams
Shout SOS from across the street
Wind blown trees, against buttery street lights

Jump Jump Angel
You’ll find your wings

Nothing behind her but tumbleweeds
bricks and christmas lights
Her dress flows up to her shoulders
in the evening storm

Homeless Junkies missing teeth
kiss the air around her
Do it angel, jump.

You
   have
   nothing
   to
   loose
   except
   everything

North 5th St. (Chapter 7)

Kiki Brown — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 20:26:25 +0000

From South to North
Callowhill to Oxford
the summer night
humid hot hell
the streets smell like tequila
ta-kill-ya
to-kill-you

Rise from your knees Kensington
Rolling Riding Red traffic
STOP!

Clomping-Splash-Clomping-Splash-Swagger-Splash
Too much celebration Philadelphia? So early Philadelphia?
Your youth has been drunk all week.
Your youth has been high all week.