Ticks
Scorpion car keys, flung at my door
Shattered a portugese hand painted bowl
Three figures lounging with a cat at a doorway
Painted in Picasso or Van Gogh stylings
Pale pink ground with grey and ultramarine washes,
coloring in light, curvy line drawings
20 minutes later when I investigate the noise I find the car keys
Emblazoned with scorpion
only moments before spotting a woman
walking slowly down a driveway,
Up and across the way
Looking for car keys? I yell
You found some? She replies
Yes someone threw them at my door I reply
They shattered a bowl
Goldie thought they may belong to Dirk
Yes, I’m Laurie
Hi, I’m Jerielle.
2 thoughts on "Ticks"
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First off, I love the title: it makes me immediately think of the pest, though as the poem unfolds I begin think maybe the ticking of some great cosmic clock that quietly weaves all the world in alluring symbols, bread crumbs, puzzling resonances. And then, in thinking such resonance as puzzling, I begin to think of the symbols themselves as ticks that maybe won’t let up until some answer seems satisfactory…I don’t know. The title alone imbues a curious, nacreous depth. I also like that I’m in it, of course; but more than that, I like the mysterious layering, I like how it leads to a meting, I like the mystery tickling at every turn. I like it. Great poem as usual.
Holy crap. They say a story needs to start where you throw the brick through the window.
What an entry.
Constant stings throughout. I love what Goldie says. “Ticks” is so compelling. What ticks us off? What are our human quirks.
Colorful use of sound and imagery, story and tension.
The last two lines ROCK. What a way to be introduced to someone.
May your bowls stay in tact. Love you.