I've had an amazingly productive summer, but I'm feeling like it's time to transition to other things. I'll still be writing of course, but I want to open myself up to the other muses that come with the season. Read some (and by some I mean more than will ever be possible), write some horror, just break out of the structure I've been holding myself to all summer.
So, with all that said, I thank you for following me on my nerdventures these past few months. Thanks for reading and responding, and I promise the coming months will have plenty more to enjoy (just of a different color...and appendage-count...).
With no further ado, I give you the last poem of So(SO)PP: 'Moving Day', a poem paying ode to my absolute favorite comic book pair, momentarily brought to life in the '90s with an MTV cartoon called 'The Maxx'...Maxx and Julie Winters.
Art by Jeffrey 'CHAMBA' Cruz
Julie's collection of dead ferns rustles in the box between my claws.
Her car is a menagerie of pots and wrong-size snowshoes,
folds of mildewy cardboard that shout how she can't throw anything away
She calls today moving day,
talks about leaving the way some people mention breakfast,
tries to smile a solace wide and white, like some dream
I can feel drifting further from my fingertips,
and I just hope it every bit as much a mask as the jutting ivory of mine.
Because there's no hiding the way my hook-clawed grip screams
where I stay silent, leaves lacerations usually reserved for isz
in these cardboard-colored goodbyes.
Because, what is there for me without Julie?
The city was always a sticky-wet miasma of violence and pee-smell,
but at least I had Julie!
She, the lighthouse of a Leopard Queen
giving me someone to fight for, someone to ply every claw
and corded muscle for…
But without her, without this strength-clad huntress, what's left?
She's leaving and taking my world with her.
I would have loped our Outback's dicant-scattered plains until my bones
shone a toothy tombstone from the dirt at the trunk of her throne,
would have popped every rapist, mugger, or isz,
plunged my claws into the lava in their bellies just to know Julie was safe.
But she's leaving,
my white-hot sun withdrawing behind air whales
and ecliptic mountains of steel, retreating with the beam-like fingers
whose warmth always reminded me who I was, filled
this mask and suit with something more
than the grimy, headlit alley screeching underneath my dreams.
What is there for me without Julie?
There are no more boxes to load, the stoop
exhumed like a nightmare from 'neath the only things keeping her here,
my Leopard Queen…Julie, the only place I've ever felt free,
promising I will be freer without her.