Wendy’s Subway Writing Night
Prompt: Grease Ice

Bones, curtains of dirt and soil
Waves of question line the grounds
The space between old and new movement, life and death
a letting go of fluidity as we know of it

——What happens the night before the curtains are drawn?
Spoonfuls of sugar boil before our eyes, but
we look up at it, not down,
and we see it come to rise and meet us, not the other way around——

I wish to stay in this place, a finishing that rivals the most intricate marble
A finishing that competes with the most distressed of wood
I wish to stay in this place, the stars in my head a different color, a place that most generously meets with the spirits of creation and expression
I wish to stay in this place of icy blood bleeding into my streams, completely unbeknownst to me
I wish to stay in this place of end in sight at the same time it reminds me that I did know life

But the choice has already been made, the chess game has already been played, the cloak has already begun to approach

The nights before the final curtain is drawn, uncertainties and last-minute changes continue to flow
What did he mean to me, where will I possibly go afterwards
Only discipline puts a halt to this

I watched The Grey Man provide me with the stone
I watched the stone be placed in ice
I heard the faint whispers of various intertwinings surround the stone in its final movements

I wished to stay in that place, recounting the ripples, waves, and bubbles of oxygen that proved to me that I did know life

And In the closing of the stream, in turning off the screen, in preparing the stone to face the winds and become a face stuck in expression
I watched the stone become one with ice
knowing time carves away at its edges until a pool of granite be all but left in its wake

I wished to stay in that place of knowing rest was in store
A place where notions of remembrance and honor spoke wide and deep,
Where the yes’s and the no’s needed more discerning, but a process that held no burden

The stone had its maker, an immovable form of blue and white….

But the nights following the coagulation served equally as unsure…
as if to say the coldness of fixation proved as sharp as it did reflect upon itself

After its meeting of the the color of Blue,
the stone rounds the corner to find a reflection of waves of past, raveling itself away from, instead of towards a solid ground.

we see the stone sitting helpless as the stream that was once closed re-opens to allow movement to fade out before more can flow back in.

The Grey Man knew of this,

The dirt and soil fade away behind the reflections of the train car, and I am left but to only question if the fixations of the old stone had been nature itself, but from fear within me.