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The VCR Diaries- Act 1, Part 1


The VCR Diaries: A Poetic Documental...The Intro
The stage is set.  All three are standing there; Veronica, Cassandra, and Reece.  If you’ve read the novel, Erased… you’re curious as to what else they have to say.  If you haven’t read the book, you’re eager to know what’s on their chests.  You know what they’re wearing; it’s all pictured in the flyer.  Each of them are on their respective platform and standing under their own light.  They’re standing very still, and it appears they are just mannequins.  Then Veronica’s platform begins to lower, and she takes control of the stage. 


Her Diary- Veronica 
It’s black leather with raised suede.  The suede is where the flowers are, but they’re gray.  An odd color for a flower.  Yet, it’s pretty to look at.  Inside, there are groups of pages where she just let it rip, and between those, whole areas she just skipped over.  It’s like she was planning on inserting something on those pages, but either she forgot or life took off.  It’s very clean, and barely worn; except for one of the outside corners of the front cover.  The leather is completely gone there.  Maybe it took a fall, you know.  I don’t know what happened, but the cardboard under the leather is exposed, and it’s also gray. 


A Barefoot

A heavy foot can be heard anywhere,
It doesn’t scratch the ear drum like one being dragged,
But a heavy foot can destroy things,
And it’s what keeps all the ears alert,
And eyes moving swiftly back and forth.

It’s like the sound of the guard coming up the hall.
I think he knows the terror of his step,
And he likes it.

I myself am a light and swift step.
That’s the way everything changes around me,
With a light touch and leaving no footstep behind.
And that’s exactly how I’m taking to the stage.

My pant legs are long,
They’re sweeping the floor in fact,
And don’t you try to get a look underneath,
I’m barefoot.

It’s the way to get undressed isn’t it.
And this diary and everything in it is trying to undress me.
I’m here and I’m holding it,
But the words aren’t and they’re not.

These are old words about old matters.
They come from worlds apart,
And perhaps they’re too tired to hold me up.
Still, here I am.
Midway through this leap.

And midway is where I want to put my shoes back on.
Midway is where life makes you choose,
Choose to undress the past forever,
Or put it all into a file in a draw you can never step away from.

I’m past midway now.
Well, midway as we like to hold it,
And caress it.

I didn’t see it then.
Midway.
I didn’t undress it when the moment came,
And now all I have is the stage and this diary.

Now right before him,
I’m determined to undress.
No.. I’m not just going to have him put a beautiful spin,
On the small drops of blood between these pages.

Dried blood...
It has a way of intrigue,
And intrigue,
A way of glory,
But he should smell it.
He should pull his nostrils up,
And get a good whiff.

Then maybe the next time I glimpse up,
He’ll be gone,
His seat will be empty,
And all the ears will go with his heavy step.

Then maybe I can just run through this.
I’ll get out from under this cruel heat,
This spotlight,
And put my shoes back on.

Then maybe I’ll get some credit,
For walking all the way back to midway,
With a draw on my back.

And surely,
Maybe,
I’ll see it clearly,
To leave it all behind.



The Night Before

There’s another woman he loves.
She lives under his pillow.
She’s a different kind of woman,
And I’ve learned to deal with her.

We never exchange looks,
I keep my eyes on him,
And he keeps his eyes on her.

When our eyes are free,
We come together.
We dance.
We teach.
We eat.
We sleep…

And sometimes when we sleep,
She sticks her eyes out.
I can’t prove it,
But the bed goes cold.

It’s a chilling kind of cold,
And he rolls back into a bit of a rug.
His hands become dead logs,
And his lips shut up.

Still, tomorrow we get hitched.
Tomorrow we take all the threats..
Down the aisle.
And whatever is not hanging out,
Won’t be addressed.

That’s the way wedding days goes.
That’s the way childhood goes.
That’s the way motherhood goes.
That’s the way dating goes.

And off we go.


To see the Event Program, see the previous blog entry titled The VCR Diaries.



All Poems Written by NaTisha Renee Williams 
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.  Written permission must be secured from the author Natisha R. Williams and/or Grace Call Communications, LLC to use or reproduce any part of this Literary Work, except for brief quotation in critical reviews or articles.
The VCR Diaries Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams, All Right Reserved.


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