"Head between the Knees," 2nd Prize Poetry Winner of the Filitsa Sofianou-Mullen Creative Writing Competition
We are publishing "Head between the Knees" by alumna Andreea Ceplinschi, the second-prize winner in the poetry category of the second annual Filitsa Sofianou-Mullen Creative Writing Competition.
On seldom late nights when I forget the mind too clear
I pretend not to fear what dreams may come
And close my eyes over the flashing neon warnings
That play old family movies through the fisheye lens of the panic attack.
How normal we seemed:
Father’s rakia-soaked dinner silence –
He’d visibly buckle under the weight of anger, never aloud in our presence,
While mother passive-aggressively did dishes –
They waited for the kids to be in bed, oblivious
To the concrete thinness of communist-built walls
And we imagined them in an endless game of charades
Trying to guess misery behind closed doors,
For the children.
Mother teaching us to do with little:
Learn where the thrift stores were that sold clothes by the pound,
Steam the stale bread, sew up the holes, glue up the gaping, worn shoe soles,
If not too rotten, put it in a stew and you won’t need
To buy things when you can make your own –
From food to furniture, self-sufficient, self-deprecating, self-medicated –
With whatever you have lying around.
Brothers, unknowing enemies in the war of my siblinghood –
I loved them with thieving distrust, eyes always weighing
The bigger piece of chicken they got at the table,
Heart always breaking over the gift of three seconds
They spent frozen in mother’s scolding green eyes
When caught skipping school, while I played good daughter,
Toiled over grades and blended invisibly into the wallpaper.
I scan for traces of happiness:
Thirty years later, choking on 4am panic on the bathroom floor
As the whole world seems my brothers
And I seem to swing wildly from the shadows
Of my frugal mother at work and my choleric father after,
Crushed under wave after wave of throbbing dark matter stuck in my throat
And roaring rivers of red wine I swim to help swallow the day.
I struggle not to rifle through childhood memories
Late at night, alone and afraid
That I might find myself crying
Over a stranger’s diary.