Poetry: Selections From Arvilla Fee

Nonfiction

 

I laid myself in your outstretched hands,

the pages splayed to Chapter One.

My only wish—that you would cherish the pages,

turn them one-by-one, let every word

become a seed on fertile soil.

You smiled, but your hands were hurried,

anxious, I think, to read ahead,

and so you brushed past my background,

all those little moments that shaped me,

built me into the human I am today.

I thought it wouldn’t matter, but you skipped

so much, reading only the parts you liked,

dog-earing the part where you came in.

I suppose that could have been romantic,

but you thumbed through my tears,

those times I felt misunderstood, 

because, as you said, you’ve never been big

on drama. If only you had slowed down,

had taken the time to lose yourself 

in my vulnerability—I promise

you would have read that chapter again

and again. But you wanted to reach the end,

to say you’d read it all—when, in fact, 

the entire plot was lost on you.

You didn’t see it coming, that last page,

when I turned my back and closed the door.

 

 

 

The Loop 

 

I lie in the curve at the bottom of a circle.

Arching my back, I crab walk around the rim;

if I keep moving I will end where I began—

back in my trundle bed of memories and regrets.

 

Arching my back, I crab walk around the rim,

passing the same stars and planets as before.

Back in my trundle bed of memories and regrets,

I seek to soften the blow of my return.

 

Passing the same stars and planets as before,

my tears spit on the parched earth below.

I seek to soften the blow of my return;

no one wishes to be the static character.

 

My tears spit on the parched earth below;

if I keep moving, I will end where I began.

No one wishes to be the static character;

I lie in the curve at the bottom of a circle.

 

 

 

The Brave Unbreakables

 

There’s more than one way

to break a person

 

breaks that don’t show up

in x-rays and are not bound

to bear a cast

 

breaks whose sharp edges

are concealed 

within the confines of the heart

 

breaks that hide behind lying eyes,

that won’t tumble from a tongue

but mumble, It’s OK. I’m fine

 

and to those who bear such marks

but refuse to be statistics,

let us hold each other in solidarity

 

let us swear upon the blessed feet

of those who’ve come before us—

show them       they have not walked in vain.

Arvilla Fee lives in Dayton, Ohio with her husband, three of her five children, and two dogs. She teaches for Clark State College, is the lead poetry editor for October Hill Magazine, and has been published in over 100 magazines. Her three poetry books, The Human Side, This is Life, and Mosaic: A Million Little Pieces are available on Amazon. Arvilla’s life advice: Never travel without snacks. Visit her website and her new magazine: https://soulpoetry7.com/