"The X-Files Poetry Anthology"
by Kelida Flynn 8/98
Part One: Mulder
Summary: A series of poems reflecting characters of the show and their
perspective on those who affect them most closely.
**********
"To Phoebe (who tore my heart out more times than I ever offered it)"
She had legs--
(I'll give her that much)
They stretched out farther than the edge of MY bed,
Well into others (nameless and blueblooded)
As cold as she
A hard lesson to learn,
That I could never give
enough --
To you; to anyone,
Until I found more of myself to spare
Or someone (someone whole)
Or some half (of me, my other)
Thank you,
Expensive as your education was--
My soul, my mind, my pocket
(and then some)
I grew up,
I grow older,
I grew away from you.
**********
"Father, 195_"
Years could be empty as your bottle,
A hand into your hair,
Run ragged, smooth,
A hand across my face,
Crushing
Crashing
Sweat condensing on your forehead--
More rain than I never dared make
I missed the man you could have been,
I wonder about the man you could have made me
I saw that you had dreams that ceased to die,
But the nightmares--
Wraiths:
They shut you out,
Swords drawn at the door,
It, alone, was your fight
Until you declared war.
It took us, too,
Pestilence, corpses,
We were drawn into battle in rags,
Baring sticks pointed in confusion
And now, I still fight,
(though you are gone, dead, dying years ago),
For others,
But I do not carry your shroud,
I carry your burden,
And the saddness I once saw in you,
They are flecks in my eyes,
They are your legacy.
**********
"A Charcoal Sketch"
She drew herself,
A charcoal sketch,
Smudges and ringlets like smoke,
And though she had smelled the evil then,
Thicker than thick,
This gray hue invaded her body still,
And I'm afraid;
Much, much more
She still spins her widow's webs,
Her gray silk hair against the canvas of her private prison--
One no one can break into
White and gleaming,
Brighter than the sheen of a dull knife,
She does not cut,
But slash--
Parallel.
Diagonal.
Crescent carve, a Thanksgiving feast,
Into everything that should have touched her heart
This--my mother.
**********
"Alice in the Stars"
To my last, my only,
My Alice lost in Wonderland,
How do you sleep tonight?
I see, still
Your fingerprints,
Small and smeared,
Tracks across the looking glass sky
Haunting,
Your face inside the mirror,
Your Chesire Cat smile
Won't you come home, Alice?
Or does the madness,
The croquet game,
Keep you?
"As long as I get somewhere,"
You might say,
But sometimes somewhere is just too far,
And you are already years too late for tea
by Kelida Flynn 8/98
Part One: Mulder
Summary: A series of poems reflecting characters of the show and their
perspective on those who affect them most closely.
**********
"To Phoebe (who tore my heart out more times than I ever offered it)"
She had legs--
(I'll give her that much)
They stretched out farther than the edge of MY bed,
Well into others (nameless and blueblooded)
As cold as she
A hard lesson to learn,
That I could never give
enough --
To you; to anyone,
Until I found more of myself to spare
Or someone (someone whole)
Or some half (of me, my other)
Thank you,
Expensive as your education was--
My soul, my mind, my pocket
(and then some)
I grew up,
I grow older,
I grew away from you.
**********
"Father, 195_"
Years could be empty as your bottle,
A hand into your hair,
Run ragged, smooth,
A hand across my face,
Crushing
Crashing
Sweat condensing on your forehead--
More rain than I never dared make
I missed the man you could have been,
I wonder about the man you could have made me
I saw that you had dreams that ceased to die,
But the nightmares--
Wraiths:
They shut you out,
Swords drawn at the door,
It, alone, was your fight
Until you declared war.
It took us, too,
Pestilence, corpses,
We were drawn into battle in rags,
Baring sticks pointed in confusion
And now, I still fight,
(though you are gone, dead, dying years ago),
For others,
But I do not carry your shroud,
I carry your burden,
And the saddness I once saw in you,
They are flecks in my eyes,
They are your legacy.
**********
"A Charcoal Sketch"
She drew herself,
A charcoal sketch,
Smudges and ringlets like smoke,
And though she had smelled the evil then,
Thicker than thick,
This gray hue invaded her body still,
And I'm afraid;
Much, much more
She still spins her widow's webs,
Her gray silk hair against the canvas of her private prison--
One no one can break into
White and gleaming,
Brighter than the sheen of a dull knife,
She does not cut,
But slash--
Parallel.
Diagonal.
Crescent carve, a Thanksgiving feast,
Into everything that should have touched her heart
This--my mother.
**********
"Alice in the Stars"
To my last, my only,
My Alice lost in Wonderland,
How do you sleep tonight?
I see, still
Your fingerprints,
Small and smeared,
Tracks across the looking glass sky
Haunting,
Your face inside the mirror,
Your Chesire Cat smile
Won't you come home, Alice?
Or does the madness,
The croquet game,
Keep you?
"As long as I get somewhere,"
You might say,
But sometimes somewhere is just too far,
And you are already years too late for tea