“Well Water” is a collection of poems by Andrea Flohn written between 2016 and now.
man-made canyon. | Circa August 2016 The mighty canyon rested just below her throat, Birthed as a crack in her surface, Threatening critical injury to all not already consumed by the abyss. One cannot fathom the depth of the canyon, Nor can a mere visitor comprehend the way in which it came to be. There’s no longer a beginning point, Its origin has become entirely obsolete. From a distance, the emptiness is profound The canyon is entirely void of substance. A stony mask disguises its marbling, Until one draws closer; takes it all in. Take it all in. The jagged upper lip of the north side, Speckled by fleshy arms with third degree burns. Without any bones or bone affiliates. Simply fresh decay by a force the arms could not withstand. Like steps into the subtle beast, Inside of its ever-changing walls, Scabbed and oozing like dullened topaz. It is not rare for a spectator to reach out, Ripping the delicate wallpaper, If only for a closer examination of the walls. Through a trickling, unstifled creek of hot, deep red, Are words. Are twisted carvings. A story about a person Disconnected from reality Because reality was unbearable. These inspectors of the canyon, They want to know how these carvings Came to be. Only the writer knows Each twist of the canyon, And where to take cover when Salt-water sloshes against the towering, Patched walls. Crashing endlessly against A bottomless bottom. Only she knows how to find the end of the maze, Forever winding downward Toward rust-colored sand which holds no light, And cannot hold the withered faces Of the foliage that used to grow below her throat. The writer knows that the canyon cannot lie barren, Producing no fruit as it once so graciously did. Without allowing one more visitor to toss Their wishful stones into her wound, She pours life into desolation, Filling her man-made canyon. Sans Souci | June 2019 Through the words we whisper above the chirrup of insects And below the dearth of everything beyond, The untorn fabric of adolescence returns; bearing none of the inquietude that is often remembered. There are the quintessential butterflies in my stomach, And not the sickly kind that beat their wings frantically against my delicate innards. They are acrobats; Which carve circles along the base of my chest and underbelly, With the precision of spinal taps; the compulsion of sunlight. For once, Dread does not accompany the thought of being dismantled by someone’s glance, We’ve uttered no complete thoughts; no prose with poignant punctuation, Only the continuation of a monologue that nudges the clock hands far past midnight. Your reflection exists in all of the places, In which my mind can implore a smooth surface. The ill-lit portions of my eyes migrate past their limits, As if what they perceive truly scares them. But I, the keeper of this estate, Await unafraid, For you. Ask Questions | April 2021 Did I take some wrong turn because I never asked for directions? Did I wonder for so long because I never asked any questions? Well, maybe that’s true of all of us ‘Cause we’re trying to seem a whole lot smarter And a whole hell of a lot more confident than we actually feel. Thinking we have all the answers is the greatest mistake. We become our own fate, Trying to snatch at fragile things with oven mitts, Praying we won’t miss ‘em. We don’t wanna have this kind of control. But we have it because we don’t let others know Just exactly what our weaknesses are. Looking to the stars for signs, Swiping for a valentine yet so undefined. You’re wrapped and intertwined with confusion and darkness. Just ask questions. It’s how you let the light in.
Moving Sidewalk | Updated 2021 "At least we match", the only words I held onto to keep from feeling like a matchstick that had been doused in water from the coldest ocean in the world. The warmth of his palm against my own burned straight through to the other side, and I could barely feel them shake like leaves just about to fall at the ends of my wrists. Tears sat perched like birds at the edges of my eyes, anticipating the transition in which they would soon take flight. Willing but forced to face one another in green vinyl-covered chairs, we whispered some lasting, affectionate words, but I could barely make out the syllables and tones over the ticking of the world's time. People, young and old gathered just a couple of feet before us, gripping tightly to their home-made welcomes, and seemingly ready to burst with joy. The envy I had for them could tear down a thousand cities. Instead, I pressed the rainbow colors of my tendons against his defeated, wandering bones. For a while we watched the group in silence like two piles of granite; barely breathing and sitting too still. The edges of our lips crept up our faces awkwardly only to be shot down by stream-heads forming and falling through the two openings below our eyebrows. They scurry beneath the lines of our jaws and wait for us to wipe them away. Our faces fell like avalanches, creating valleys and peaks and forming confusion like rain clouds. Our heels pushed down on the worn carpeting as we stood, and we felt every vein and artery collapse at once; blood rushing to every place it wasn't supposed to. Our interlaced digits led us to the roped line of the security gate, and it was there that we paused again, frozen together for just a glimpse more. I was released, alone. The fire went out. I groped for hot embers, and the birds perched upon the edges of my blood-shot eyes flew across the tightness of my face, gliding their wings against my skin and casting deep shadows. My face crumpled and fell away as I removed my coat and shoes. There were others watching and waiting curiously behind my back, and I couldn't force them to understand how I could move so slowly. Gently, a whisper touched me through the fog and offered something to chase the birds away; a small, scratchy tissue. It comforted me for only moments until my eyes found him stationed against a wall I could not reach. It was then that I realized that despite being seconds away, I might as well be in another universe. Ahead of the rest of the cattle being prodded through the gates of hell, I staggered through as if walking through a maze, holding a sore leg. But the pain started elsewhere, and instead of spreading, toiled and tortured like a disease. The center of my entire being felt as if the sliding doors had been rolled open, and acid-ridden breezes were blowing all the way through. At the end of the moving sidewalk with my belongings on my back, my eyes strained through the faces behind me to catch his eyes. I lifted my twisted fingers to the air, and then to meet with my lips, throwing a kiss across the thousands of miles between us. We never did that again. Gate 11 laughed at the splashes my face had endured during the lonesome trek to the end. I placed my whittled bones against a chair and simply gave up keeping my sadness locked up inside my head for any longer. I wept openly amongst strangers, all too preoccupied or afraid to care; afraid to see a person doing something human. As I collapsed into the chair, my legs told me to run. Suddenly I felt his feet against the pedals in his car, pushing him away from me. It felt permanent and I didn’t know why. As I waited, the minutes got longer, and my dead-weight fell heavily into the boarding line. I breathed deeply, remembering that it would ease things, and shuffled my half-eaten bones into the aircraft. Behind a sighing businessman, I found a seat made for one and settled into it like a temporary nest, laying my cheek against the cold window. I couldn't comprehend a single word coming from the mouth of the woman at the front. She wanted safety , but how can a person feel secure when their flesh is being torn away and from their only sense of security? Sapphires guided our voyager to the ends of the earth, where a blood-stopping sound echoed throughout the tin-can and to the tips of the wings. I thought, “ I could break the window before me; force my brittle bones through the sure-death daggers of glass and tossing my sweating body through the portal and into freedom.” But he was already gone. The sound of the plane increased by a million and suddenly, my back was forced against the seat. We began running as quickly as I wanted to through that parking lot, feet thudding against blacktop, limbs and lungs burning and pulsating which every heavy breath until I reached his arms. I'd forgotten something, and I couldn't think of what it might be until our metal bird had taken flight. I could see it now, just next to his shoe-the one that flew off when he got hit. Writhing and bleeding deeply into the oily asphalt beneath it. Longing to be picked up and brought home with him, where I should have been.