Corpse Pose (On Creation)

The Barbie dolls are on their backs, arms in supplication, dead bugs frozen in the position of a child’s imagination before it moves on to something else. Me and the dolls and our glassy eyes, plastic smiles, a battlefield of holiday remains, alone in the morning. Pieces of gift wrapping like undergarments, balls broken in the carpet.

I stuck my neck out for this, which means I lifted my jaw and exposed the tender part. Another sound of a broken soul which could be good, could be bad, we can’t tell.

I cried at some stupid film with my kids, a movie about dinosaurs, the lead one pinned down by a log on his back and left to die by his brother, about to be eaten by scavengers, who finds it in himself to rise all of a sudden, cast off the log and chase away the others, go on and do what he needs to do. A redemption tale of courage.

And that’s just the thing, with songs and films and books: It’s not about you when you make it, it’s about relating to people in a way that makes it feel like them, like it’s their song too.

People feel talked to when you show them the world they live in in a way that rings true because they’ve seen it, they’ve thought it, they believe it. You can’t make that up.

But you have to, and that’s the trick.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in humor, inspiration, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Corpse Pose (On Creation)

  1. ksbeth says:

    and the creative process takes what is out in the world and jumbles it all up and spits it back out in a way that people can understand and recognize it anew. nice post )


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