Salvation
“WaterBoy” mystical water from Alaska
When the sadness dries my insides like a tightrope across the sky
My mouth opens like an big O
I dream of that indigo water in that moment, the mystical Alaskan salvation
Its cold molecules warming up my insides to bring them to life
I drown in the past woes of millions
Like Amélie Poulain
A ethereal ebb and flow of mortal terror
pouring the healing waves of love over the pained masses
About the Creator
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More stories from Melissa Ingoldsby and writers in Poets and other communities.
I can’t talk about anything beautiful
I was eating my first bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup since I was a kid. The flavor was nostalgia in a bowl. Yet, all I could taste on my tongue was something sweet and special that I had lost long ago. I had once found beauty in single moments in my life. I cried deeper tears that felt like a endless well as I took that first savory and familiar sip. Like the last rung on a ladder, like that old Stephen King story about the brother and sister and lost youth, I felt stuck in the moment of life and death—fear and freedom.
By Melissa Ingoldsbyabout a year ago in Poets
1:49am
4/16/25 1:49am I want to breathe death in my larynx and feel loose change in the torn and raggedy pockets of my mother’s cardigan. The water is next to the bed. It’s not cold and never will be. So I guess what’s left is us; we will walk with crooked feet on a path carved by ancient societies. You will borrow my shoes. I will taste vengeance in my tea and convince myself it’s good for my liver. Coffee is fine too. Yes, that’s all. I will think about how I want to kiss you and, the clouds, they will rise to space, and leaves, they will glue their limbs back together. The sun has been out for weeks. This screw isn’t any looser than when I bought it. But I will wake up and I will be in the ship that splits in two and slide my sullen palms across its tundric pillow. I never took swimming lessons so whatever happens is meant to be. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I’m sorry I said that. Anyway, I want to lie nude in wildflowers with ants who build colonies and worms who can’t see. You have a problem with textures. You can’t help it. I could try to tell you things, like how I want my children to understand how little everything is and to not be afraid of the giant fingers that grab at sewing needles in their dreams. I could say it always scared me. It’s just not right. But listen, back to it: I want to indulge in passion and binge affection. Is it a sin if it helps? I will endure the things I am given and inculcate everyone around me to do the same. Do five laps around the block before you respond, whatever helps. I will tell you I want harmony to be palpable and wheels of recognition to be locked in an imperishable gear. Refill the pot if it’s empty. What I want has nothing to do with me. Diagonal tile is cold, you know, and my hair gets crunchy after too long out there. I want this lesson to end.
By Olivia Dodge6 days ago in Poets
Comments (5)
That was wonderful! Well done.
Oh wow, that felt so powerful! Loved your poem!
I loveee Amelie! The cinematography in that film was incredible! Poignant and beautiful poem, Melissa! 💌
F-A-B-U-L-O-U-S! Go gurl! 💪🏾
wow. 💙