tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42973725973919547562024-03-13T13:24:09.028-04:00audible graphitea collection of written pieces by abby whisenantabbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-42001419942247005662010-04-13T23:35:00.003-04:002010-04-13T23:46:07.089-04:00i'm afraid i have nothing to saya voodoo man stole my voice<br />in a dream last night<br /><br /><br />he didn't like my cigarettes<br /><br /><br />he stood over me with<br />otherworldly powers<br />and all i could do was stare<br /><br />helplessly<br /><br />at the spanish moss draped to frame<br />my imminent death<br /><br />and every scream<br />from every other dream<br />clotted in my throat<br /><br /><br />dressed in his sunday best<br />the voodoo man stole my voice<br /><br />i became envious of the swamp<br />and its song<br />and prayed for a jazz funeral<br /><br />black umbrellas and polished brass<br />and i'll bury my thoughts because<br />the voodoo man stole my voice.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-17757991428926925352010-04-11T23:47:00.002-04:002010-04-12T00:02:53.504-04:00a poem for midnightnothing makes a sound<br /><br />so i fall asleep to <br />the hum of my thoughts,<br />a quiet and constant stream of<br />things consumed<br />only for the mere act of<br />consuming.<br /><br />and i perform for myself.<br />and i perform for you<br />until my muscles weigh of memories <br />that i have no intention of keeping.<br /><br />in the absence of sound<br />i watch myself move in circles,<br />a tired shuffle,<br />a push and pull of the in-betweens.<br /><br />and i just want to let go<br /><br />and sleep deeply in this silence<br />until the new day offers<br />the familiarity of promise.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-78052133234960437592009-12-24T00:24:00.007-05:002009-12-24T22:33:24.587-05:00a locust in wintershe gave birth to new thoughts <br />under the restless northern lights,<br /><br />each shift of shape and color<br />spelling the names of other places<br />and affirmations.<br /> <br /><br />she moves<br /><br />climbs from peak to peak<br />to follow the moon across the sky.<br /><br />she hides fallen stars <br />and promises<br />in silver sleigh bells<br />and plants them in the snow<br /><br />thinking<br /><em>something might come of this <br />in the spring.</em><br /><br /><br />she moves<br /><br />daringly<br /><br />tiptoe-ing across tightropes<br />pulled tensely between treetops<br />in pursuit of the magpie<br />with citrine eyes.<br /><br /><br />the scent of morning <br />falls on four-leaf clovers<br /><br />and<br />she moves<br /><br />beyond herself<br />to return to her self<br /><br />with new thoughts.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-35934748738151170962009-12-21T00:03:00.003-05:002009-12-21T01:01:42.598-05:00no.7 from displacedlying in the light of christmas<br /><br />somewhere in between<br />home and place<br /><br />i squint to see <br />the constellations wrap the fir<br />and wait for shooting stars<br />to carry me back to myself<br /><br />when i didn't offer gifts<br />to closed hands <br />turned backs<br />deaf ears<br /><br />when i moved like a woman<br />spoke like a woman<br />thought like a woman<br /><br />before i lost myself to you<br />and you also<br /><br />just briefly<br />but long enough<br /><br />so i reach for the next branch<br />and search the surface of old ornaments<br />to find a reflection of myself<br /><br />press it against my chest<br />beneath a new wall made of eggshells<br />and thin ice<br /><br />and move forward<br />only<br /><br />toward a new light.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-54061563905377050932009-12-15T22:35:00.003-05:002009-12-15T22:48:41.479-05:007:52 ami woke up inside my head<br />this morning<br /><br />a beautiful nightmare<br /><br />full of doubt and delusion<br /><br />but i floated inside<br />and shoved each letter of thought<br />through small vents in my skin<br /><br />i caught them with my tongue<br />and spoke them into small jars<br />that i hid underneath my bed<br /><br /><br />a bittersweet lullaby.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-56101228796093765022009-12-09T23:38:00.002-05:002009-12-09T23:41:56.868-05:00auspicious for a girlreeling through an endless fall,<br />she touches the sky<br />and two worlds collide.<br /><br />every drop of flame <br />lights a candle <br />in memory of the one <br />who lived inside her skin.<br /><br />the fire dies on its own<br />leaving her to herself <br />but not exactly alone.<br /><br />the moon is hers<br /><br />but stars turn to dust<br />and leave no trace <br />of grace<br /><br />just a shadow on the sun.<br /><br /><br /><br />the fragile waves of days <br />break against the shore<br />and it's nobody's fault <br />but her own.<br /><br />she's not lost<br />just wandering.<br /><br />and she knows today might be<br />the most perfect day she's ever seen.<br /><br /><br /><br />pale as a pile of bones<br />she speaks his name out loud<br />and wonders when he will bring the rain back <br />to her.<br /><br />she thinks,<br />if the best is for the best<br />then the best is unkind.<br /><br /><br /><br />she waits until morning<br />to wake him<br /><br />and sings:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">dos gardenias para tí<br />con ellas quiero decir:<br />te quiero, te adoro, mi vida.<br />ponle toda tu atención<br />porque son tu corazón y el mío.</span>abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-48577710273450705142009-11-29T18:48:00.003-05:002009-11-29T19:08:06.554-05:00my sundayI followed a familiar path<br />and looked for signs of you<br /><br />even though I wasn't really sure<br />that I even wanted to find you.<br /><br />I moved alongside your footprints,<br />stepped in and out of your shadow,<br /><br /><br /><br />but I found my way without you,<br />glancing back only to watch<br />the sun glow between strands of curls.<br /><br />And I climbed rocks and<br />stood tall on boulders,<br />unwavering,<br /><br />and not once did I reach for your hand.<br /><br /><br /><br />I found my way to the edge<br />without you.<br /><br /><br /><br />Facing this space that holds eternity,<br />I stretch out my hand to grab onto<br />something more.<br /><br />I try to whisper to myself,<br />but the wind steals my words.<br /><br />So,<br />I sit<br /><br />and I wait<br />for this moment to pass.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-87471549790063146022009-11-18T20:11:00.003-05:002009-11-18T20:17:09.042-05:00a better placeI step out of my shoes<br />to meet the ground,<br />sink to the bottom of lakes<br />to listen to the quiet<br /><br />because I need to remind myself.<br /><br /><br />Tucked into the creases of paper airplanes,<br />I send my thoughts elsewhere<br />and sit silently<br /><br />and unmoving<br /><br />with the space between<br /><br />because I need to remind myself.<br /><br /><br />The air around me stretches and widens<br />until the moon meets the sun,<br />and I hold my own hand,<br /><br />and I remember now<br /><br />because I need to remind myself.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-70284737042607182402009-11-17T19:51:00.003-05:002009-11-17T19:58:42.184-05:00displacedlooking for arms to fall into,<br />my chest swells to exhale<br />the scent of my mother's perfume.<br /><br />estee lauder waves away the <em>alone</em><br />and recites the insides of greeting cards<br />with bent corners and bible verses.<br /><br />the smell cloaks me in crocheted afghans<br />and lifts the heavy curls away from my brow<br />wrinkled with thought.<br /><br />it speaks to me<br />with the rise and fall of her concerns<br /><br />until my shoulders sink under its weight.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-45540700566650479682009-11-13T17:58:00.002-05:002009-11-13T18:10:52.365-05:00things that made me happy todaysunshine through the car visor<br /><br />small voices calling my name<br /><br />new friends and pillow talk<br /><br />fake blue fingernail in the hallway<br /><br />letting go.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-63652629707577042802009-11-11T22:14:00.003-05:002009-11-11T22:58:20.430-05:00leaving st. augustinewaiting for a fortunate accident<br /><br />patiently.<br /><br />decidedly.<br /><br /><br />it is autumn now,<br />and the leaves have parted ways with the branches to expose<br />your absence.<br /><br />i dig,<br />knuckles and nose turning red under a canopy of cold rain,<br />to release your roots from the soil we once<br />shared.<br /><br />little wings take flight<br />at the shake of their perch,<br />this uprooted skeleton of you.<br /><br />and with them i send all of my doubt<br />and lift my chin toward the kindness of memories.<br /><br />i reach under my skin to find<br />the pulse of a new affection,<br /><br />i wrap it in words of other women<br />and plant it under the strength of my bare feet.<br /><br /><br />i can still hear its whisper<br />as i walk away.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-14185696779625406292009-11-07T12:49:00.002-05:002009-11-07T13:07:12.581-05:007 year itchI wanted to hear you say it,<br /><br />And you had already told me in<br />so many ways<br />Even though you were too weak to<br />open your mouth.<br /><br />I have to squint to see the man you once were<br />to me.<br /><br />What are you holding on to anyway?<br /><br />I would assume your arms are growing tired of<br />holding me at<br />arm's length.<br /><br />Let go of my hand,<br />it's no longer your own,<br /><br />And when you close your eyes now,<br />you'll have to dream alone.<br /><br />Release the space between us<br />like a black dove that will not<br />return.<br /><br />It will all work out in the end, they say,<br />it will all work out<br />in the end.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-14665830685554510562009-06-18T11:11:00.002-04:002009-06-18T11:17:23.537-04:00to Will Clendening[i have only now been able to post this. i wrote this three years ago after the death of a very dear friend. june 3rd marked the third year of his loss.]<br /><br /><br />smell of fresh rain and wet concrete<br /><br />the leaves moved to applaud<br />relief from heat<br /><br />tiny drops tapped <br />the napes of necks<br />bent in grief<br /><br />tears turn to mist<br />to form a fog of you<br />bound by disbelief<br /><br /><br />suddenly<br /><br /><br />but we planted a tree for you<br /><br />and you painted the sky<br />your shade of blue<br />and a warm orange<br /><br /><br />i hope to make apple pies<br />in your memory.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-35077918727599995122009-06-18T11:10:00.000-04:002009-06-18T11:11:18.899-04:00while i was smokingi watched the slow death of an earthworm<br /><br />writhing under the<br />peck<br />peck<br />peck<br />peck<br />peck<br />of a robin's beak<br /><br />ugly bird<br /><br />feathers faded from the days,<br />you look like death<br /><br /><br /><br />i don't like you, bird.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-87840296899229640192009-05-31T16:39:00.004-04:002009-05-31T16:59:24.963-04:00mississippi heatquiet<br /><br />just the sound of ceiling fans<br />moving cool air over<br />sweat and skin,<br /><br />reminds me of summer naps<br />at Mamaw's house.<br /><br /><br />eyes<br />heavy with heat<br />trace the creased bindings<br />of old paperback novels.<br /><br />idle breaths<br />breathe in the smell of old things<br />and dust<br />and tiny tin cans of snuff.<br /><br /><br />quiet<br /><br />just the sound of sleep<br />weighing lifeless upon me<br /><br />push<br />push back<br /><br />push<br /><br /><br />pushabbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-19276046713658822362009-05-26T21:36:00.003-04:002009-05-26T21:46:29.636-04:00to Angelashe catches the rays of the sun with her teeth,<br />smiles warmly<br />and laughs to echo everything good.<br /><br />her eyes soften with concern.<br />her lashes never lower with shame.<br /><br />she is resilient like blades of grass between<br />small toes<br /><br />and bright<br />like dress whites<br />and moonlight over a gravel road.<br /><br /><br /><br />she is missed<br /><br />like the smell of perfume<br />on an old blouse.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-76273835853596498212009-05-25T21:43:00.003-04:002009-05-25T21:52:45.434-04:00late afternoon reveriei<br />know<br />i'm a woman<br />but<br /><br />today i lived within<br />a woman's skin.<br /><br /><br /><br />legs crossed<br />foot arched to reveal<br />narrow trails that bend to spell<br />streets with strange names.<br /><br />sitting in my skin<br />i feel<br />the warmth of each freckle<br />marking<br />one moment in the sun.<br /><br />hand in lap<br />knuckles wrinkle and fold<br />to hold the faces of places<br />tucked<br />tucked tightly under mamaw's quilt.<br /><br />sitting in my skin<br />i return my gaze to see<br />how a woman looks<br />in a woman's skin.<br /><br /><br /><br />i <br />know<br />i'm a woman<br />but<br /><br />today i lived within<br />a woman's skin.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-88880414941871778302009-05-24T17:35:00.000-04:002009-05-24T22:35:29.442-04:00chicago [march 2007]I spent the first afternoon at Millennium Park. It was beautiful. The art, the landscape, the architecture, the weather. There were so many moments happening all around me. Couples were lying on the grass. A young girl and her mother were laughing. These moments make strangers real to me. They really have families and homes and lives and emotions and stories.<br /><br />Afterward, I went to the Art Institute. It was free after 5pm, and I was early. It was getting cooler now since the sun was moving behind the buildings. I found a corner in front of the building and around the stairs where a sliver of sunlight shone. It was warmer there. I sat and watched the city move.<br /><br />A woman caught my attention. She was absolutely captivating. Timeless. She moved toward me and then walked away. It was as if she had ascended the stairs so that I could get a better look at her. I began to photograph her and imagine stories about her. Then, in a moment, she got into a car. She was gone. <br /><br />She was my muse for a moment.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-39302408097961772262009-05-24T17:28:00.000-04:002009-05-24T17:33:24.879-04:00from DISPLACE [no. 5]brass circles mimic round cheeks<br />full of culture<br />moving St. James Infirmary through pipes of place<br /><br />melancholy melody<br />rising as a curtain to reveal<br />swollen, brown bodies lying like<br />strange fruit in the sun<br /><br />song as shrill as the mournful cries of<br />nobody's people<br /><br />lonely as the pleas of<br />a thousand souls wading through<br />poisons of the powerful with polished faces<br /><br />one last breath of brass<br /><br />the people exhale<br />notes as haunting as <br />the sins to be transcended.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4297372597391954756.post-3050225623357395062009-05-24T17:09:00.000-04:002009-05-24T17:13:32.266-04:00gymnopédie no. 3sunday rain.<br /><br />the windowpanes are weeping from the sound of<br />ivory keys<br />tapping<br />ivory bones.<br /><br />i understand the window's pain.<br /><br />joy presses impatiently underneath my skin<br />eager to dance with<br />the smell of old hymnals.<br /><br />splintered fingertips tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. <br /><br />i remember to breathe.<br /><br />the rain has stopped.abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17088988339905673416noreply@blogger.com0