Empty beer bottles spun, mesmerizing Freda. She wondered if there was some sort of astrological significance to their motions as they all slowed down and stopped pointing in different directions. She laughed, thinking how that used to signify who to kiss. Now it just signified how absolutely drunk she was.
This is an old one, but still rings true to me each year. I think this is the only poem on my site I have reposted. Now I do it for the second time. I hope you enjoy. The original title was “My Favorite Superhero”.
Mortal though she may be
Obviously she has super powers
The ability to absorb pain and suffering with a single kiss
Hearing so acute that she doesn’t miss a whisper from a mile away
Eyesight so keen that she can actually see through and around solid objects
Tap. Tap. Tap. The chips of virgin white marble flew with each hit of the chisel from the hammer, littering the floor with inspiration. Morgan had spent seven days going over this particular block looking at what was hidden within. Seven days of laying on of hands, to get the feel of the rock. She spent hours upon hours looking at the block from every conceivable angle. Now she was obsessed with releasing the imprisoned statue held within the marble tomb. She tasted flecks of cold hard marble as she continued her work. The sound from her chisel and hammer gave her clues as to how she was doing with her excavation. The smell of her sweat mixed with the marble dust made her almost intoxicated.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The statue began to come to life. Morgan could feel it start to breathe with the life she was pouring out of her hands. It began to flex the muscles she carved into its limbs. The creator was working on the created, while the created worked on the creator; a circle of energy that kept building and building until…
Crack. A small imperfection of the marble block made itself known with the release of energy and sound pent up for millennia. Morgan stopped her hammer mid swing and let it drop of her deadened fingers. With a second crack it fell to the floor. The created life fled the lump of stone, leaving a petrified corpse behind. Morgan felt her creativity evaporate under the glare of the broken piece of art in front of her. She placed her chisel softly on her lips, as if to kiss the whole endeavor goodbye.
Morgan puckered her lips a bit, feeling the sharp end slice her lightly. The blood she tasted woke her out of her torpor. She picked up the flawed marble statue and gave it a bloody kiss. Where she had kissed the marble left a blood red “lipstick” mark. That made her smile. It was almost like a goodnight kiss on their first date. She would figure this piece out eventually. All good relationships just needed time. She left the marble behind on her table, the chisel laid beside. Tomorrow she would try again, but first she needed to take care of this bloody lip.