~~~/\~~~^^


you sit looking forward
to learn the words of the
new alphabet
your senses have regained

you gaze at the photographs
memories
your time with a friend
in Abkhazia

the elfin oak trees silver leaves
sigh and teach you the soul
of the winds 'round
Akhali Atoni

monastic mountains engraved
a simple poignant song
in the silence


you believe you are not fit for much

but you are


else wise, why would the world
you have come to know
color your heart cyan

as you rest
in the arms of the


sky?


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc aka
Catherine Jarvis
(c)  2013


Abkhazia is a province
in southern Russia
There are many monistaries there

Akhali Atoni is one

autumn apples, gone from
the tree, a few this year.

coxes then , singly in the florist,
basketed among the flowers.

lunch at 20p, rattle the pips
to make sure. slice neatly white,while
watching the wind strip the leaves.

this is an autumn apple. break time
in the staff room. only the pips are left.
to grow again.

I come to the page with nothing to say
but I feel I must write anyway.

You see I'm dealing with a pain
it's coursing through my veins
as I try to remain silent,
not scream!

But the page can speak,
it can scream, it's never told to hold its tongue,
it's never told not to dream, to cry, or act dignified.

It's not even told not to lie
most of what's written is lies.

Not to deceive but to please.
But I asked for the truth, and it was given to me.

So now I'm dealing with a pain,
and wishing your lies
could deceive me once again.

interwoven
yet totally disparate
imparticular
and frustratingly intricate

did you even think before

deciding for another person
where do you get off decrying your worst sin

some might be gracious
but your gift is more than fruitless
the weight of your actions were always mine
and at some point i think you knew it

and you still added more

to this day you still refuse your sentence
guess you had to find some way to live with it


and i will never understand
and i will never hold your hand again
and i dont have it in me to be a friend
not when we were supposed to be family

not when you were supposed to protect us
not when you'd rather excuse than acknowledge
the rot you delivered us into
and the horrors in which we were abandoned

and the pain you turned away with discomfort
and your heinous ability to forget the worst
in an effort to obtain personal salvation
cause **** the kids you brought into this ****** up world

cause it isn't your fault
we hurt, right?

keep telling yourself that
it will never be true

My master’s degree's a senior’s cruise - most of the other students are thirty and even forty-somethings. Good for them, for making the (75K) investment, it’s hard, and they all look very serious. I am too, of course.

It’s busy and constant - but it’s business analysis - it's not hard, like chemistry (see retrosynthetic analysis) and I’m lucky, I’m fresh off uni - used to working problem-sets and reading a couple of hundred pages a night.

That said, last week was wearying. I look forward to Fridays (like everyone), as the light at the end of the tunnel. Then my Grandmère FaceTimed me asking if I could go through an ‘investor deck’ and give her advice. “Look at it and give it to me.. unsweetened,” she said
(“Regarde-le et donne-le-moi... non sucré”).
‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘maybe I can tell van Gogh how to paint or Taylor Swift how to influence as well.

Surely, asking someone to do something late on a Friday afternoon is a minute refinement of cruelty, but I couldn’t say 'no'. That didn’t mean I was happy - I’m very jealous of my time. It’s too easy to toss the sauce on my routines.

I took an hour and looked it over, then gave her a poetic answer,
“It’s an options fog, masquerading as opportunity.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. I know that old bird, she’s nuanced. Was that a test? There was a smile in her voice.
Part of me longed to say, “Sometimes, like on a Friday night, one head’s better than two,” but I didn’t - because what night would be good for a surprise assignment?

Two hours later, Chella and I had some students over for cocktails. Four of them (2 guys 2 girls) were Japanese. Their English wasn’t great, but we had fun. They brought a bottle of nihonshu (sake), that stuff is like water - seriously.

So I made them martinis. Their eyes bugged out with their first sips, but first martini sips always taste like gasoline. It’s the second martini that starts to taste like mother’s-milk. Before long, they were smashed and then they started singing.

That was when the real fun started. They had karaoke songs on their phones. We sang, we danced. They taught us some songs and we did the same.

“At this point in our lives,” Chella said, “It’s important to bop so hard,” everyone cheered. What a slay - she was so real, so feral for that.
.
.
Songs for this:
Something Every Day (Little Wizard Mix) by Swing Out Sister
Yoru ni kakeru by YOASOBI
.
.
Our cast:
Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale and currently a Harvard Master's candidate.  She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things.
Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.
Grandmère, my very French Grandmother. Tiny, frail looking and privately very funny - but don’t underestimate her or ever try and bull$hit her - she's a Mogul.