~ Written by Danielle N. Bilski ~
Today I came across a free verse poem I wrote six years ago (the same year this website was conceived). What a perfect opportunity to reflect on my present, future and pay homage to where my passion for writing gained momentum. It’s always nice to take a look back to where you, an idea or a passion originated. This piece still resonates with me today and I remember exactly where I was when I wrote it.
I was chatting to a friend online and they asked me whether I could just make up something on the spot. I agreed to the challenge and asked them to give me a word to use as a starting point. Maybe you can work out what the object was they gave me. I think it took me about ten minutes to write and it has not been edited in any way, so it’s extremely raw. Of course it’s not the best thing I’ve ever written (I’ll be the first one to admit), but I think the sentiment, craftsmanship and clear expression of an idea is evident.
I think this poem also captures the intention of my time with you in a simply, lovely way. Perhaps even then I had a feeling this was something I was destined to do. Nevertheless, mytimewithyou.com.au followed in the later part of 2009. I hope you enjoy it!
Untitled
Written by Danielle N. Bilski
captured
a moment in time
a snapshot of emotion
that will exist beyond life
it can wear
tear
but a part of it
will always be there
take it with you
wherever you go
know
i am there
because someone cared
enough
to capture me
for others to see.
His wife has been asking him for months to quit drinking. He’d never thought she’d leave him because of it, but that morning she did. She smelt the pungent smell on his breath as she puts his plate of eggs on the table in front of him.
‘That’s it!’ They were the last words he hears her say.
The front door slams.
He eats his eggs in peace and quiet, then gets up and pours himself a hair of the dog from the bottle in the top cupboard – the one she has never been able to reach without a step ladder.
He dresses for work and drives his Falcon to the plant ten minute away.
The day passes in a blur, from car to work, to car, to pub.
He’s the last customer to leave the pub, around two o’clock, for all he cares. The car’s within meters and he fumbles his keys from his shirt pocket. Losing his footing on the kerb, he stumbles. Thud!
His head cracks the glass of the driver’s window like a misdirected soft ball. He bites his tongue attempting to quell the tears welling in his eyes. His vision becomes even more blurred; if that’s possible.
A rising tide of failure forces its way up from the pit of his stomach, making him vomit his dignity into a disgusting, cream lump beside the front tyre. A putrid stench of rum and inadequacy emanates, making him gag.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at the window. His spider-webbed reflection shakes its head. A voice says ‘Will ya quit mucking around and get your shit together! You’re the one holding the bloody keys!’ but his mouth isn’t moving and the street is deserted.
He doesn’t try the keys in the lock. Instead, he turns and starts walking down the main street, stumbling and swaying most of the way home, alone.
Three days later, he puts a plate of slightly burned eggs on the table in front of his wife. While she unfolds her napkin and tucks it into the collar of her blouse, he goes to the top cupboard, takes hair of the dog, pouring its contents into the sink. When she smiles at him, he knows, by God, he won’t be following it down the drain.
He’s never really liked dogs, anyway.
My time with you
©2015 Danielle N. Bilski