Featured Poems for 10/8/20
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
(Exaggerated) It was a dark and stormy night…
Wait.
What?
You can’t start like that.
Why not?
Because it’s like the worst way to open a story. Like, ever.
Good enough for Snoopy.
Charles Shultz was making fun of it.
Who’s Charles Shoots?
Never mind. Start another way.
It was dark that night, wasn’t it?
Yes…?
And it was stormy. Right?
Very, very stormy.
And it was night?
Your point?
If it was dark and it was stormy and it was night, why can’t we just say so? It’s the truth. That’s how it actually was.
You’re too smart for your own good. Oh, stop grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Fine. Whatever. Start the story however you want. Just get on with it.
You tell it.
What? Wait. What?! After all that?
I changed my mind.
You insisted you wanted to tell it this time. You pretty-pleased-me- with-sugar-and-ice-cream-in-the-middle to tell it. You were on your knees clutching my legs begging, please, please, oh please I want to tell the story this time.
I didn’t do that!
Fine. Whatever. I’ll start…
The starlit summer night rapidly turned overcast.
How is that any better?
We need to move on.
Lightning flashes, thunder rumbles as clouds roll in. By the road, a sign, “The Valley Bed & Breakfast” bangs against its post. A gravel driveway winds up to a three-story house. Overlooking the valley, the lights of the house are the only ones visible anywhere.
Ready to go inside?
Why do you ask?
You sure you want to?
What’s the point of the story if we don’t go inside? Come on, it’s starting to rain.
Starts to rain…
THE BEGINNING OF THE RAINBOW
The dining area
Large bay windows RATTLE and SHAKE
as rain RAT-TAT-TATS into them.
Rain SPATTERS through a cracked open window
onto a table with a half-empty glass of milk,
partially eaten cookies, a sketchbook, and crayons.
The master bedroom
Mom, stress-lines on a pretty face, unruly hair
sits on the edge of the bed.
Arms folded, jaw clenched.
Dad, at a desk covered with mortgage-related paperwork.
Rubs his temples.
Oh for God’s sake, Bill…!
Faith’s room
Hand-drawn pictures on the walls.
A jewelry box sits on a small table in the center.
Faith, same unruly hair as her mother,
holding a teddy bear, turns on a lamp
as she climbs out of bed.
Kneels down
carefully puts the teddy bear next to her.
Say it with me, Mister Snuggles.
Clasps her hands together, closes her eyes.
Now I lay me down to sleep…
CRACKLING THUNDER crescendos
into a RUMBLING BOOM.
Eyes fly open.
A quick intake of breath.
Looks to Mr. Snuggles.
Mr. Snuggles, unruffled.
Closes her eyes again.
Clasps her hands back together.
Another PEAL OF THUNDER.
Ethan’s room
The walls covered with maps.
Ethan, asleep, not bothered
at all by the thunderstorm.
The hallway
Mr. Snuggles in hand,
Faith opens the door of her room
peeks out into the hallway.
FLASHES OF LIGHTNING
in the window at the far end.
Faith scampers
across to her parents’ bedroom
reaches for the doorknob…
…if we don’t come up with six thousand dollars
from somewhere, we are going to be foreclosed.
Mom RESPONDS ANGRILY.
Do you ever listen to me, Mary?
Mom SPEAKS again, voice a PITCH HIGHER.
Faith drops her hand from the doorknob.
…it was my fault last year
when Faith went to the hospital?
That’s what really killed our savings, you know.
Bill…
And, of course, it’s all my fault
we’re not booking any guests.
Bill…!
I guess it doesn’t matter at this point.
Unless we figure a way to get some money soon
we are going to be out on the street
with me pushing a shopping cart
with only our clothes in it.
Plenty of time for finger-pointing then.
Oh, stop playing the martyr!
Where are you going?
To sleep in a guest room
while we still have one.
HEAVY FOOTSTEPS
across the room.
Don’t. Bill, I’m so —
The door OPENS, SLAMS shut.
Faith’s room
Mr. Snuggles, tucked into the bed.
The closet
Faith sits curled up under an air vent.
FOOTSTEPS in the hallway.
DOWN the stairs.
Through the vent: Fine!
Door LOCKS.
Silence.
Ethan’s room.
Faith and Mr. Snuggles
climb into Ethan’s bed.
Hey! What are you doing?
Ethan tries to push Faith off the bed.
They’re fighting again.
Ethan stops pushing.
Silently makes room for Faith.
And Mister Snuggles.
If you enjoyed the poems, please check out more of my poetry at Matthew Spira’s Poetry. My first collection, The End of the Rainbow, on sale now. Thank you for reading!
ABOUT MATTHEW SPIRA’S POETRY
My publication contains my poetry and stories. I tend to focus more on people than things, but I write about a wide variety of topics and moods. I am especially interested in the military/veteran experience, (single) parenting, and the bemusement of middle age.
