'the Twitch'
This is the story of ‘the twitch’.
We have all had it:
That bit of movement before we sleep.
We have been awakened by it when we were younger. . . it threw our arm out to catch us
before we fell out of bed.
It was even younger than that for us.
It was sometimes confused with a kick -- from our mothers’ tummies to the swaddle of
blanket.
As we grew, the arm no longer flew. . . and thus. . . ‘the twitch’.
It is thought that we started with
a parting of the energy that mathematicians make Einsteins
of, or,
sounds of the aria that Mozart’d
into our echoes of the day -- a marriage of concept and conceptual.
It took us through the outreach of awkward doubt. . . brought us ‘round the curve
of nerve
for monkey bars toward the first dance; drew blood in our mouths before we got the first
punch – given/taken.
The part of ‘the twitch’
that is worthy of noting now is that
it has never wanted to be caught:
It wanted more than nothing to be left alone – perhaps; conceived that
it would be an occasion for cause. . . effect – the drive our parents tried to delay
with Dr. Seuss and Disney books. A teenage indifference took us away from
it.
We all fall asleep. . . as we’ve always done.
The story of ‘the twitch’ begins at the thumb; carries on. . . for the course of fingers
it touched.
Brings us a little closer to the edge of our beds.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
