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Open Poetry #15
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Silly Putty
| Open Poetry #15 |
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Silly Putty |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart 
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Silly Putty children love magic in many forms, silly putty being one, shifting cartoon images from Sunday comics, miniature fingers pulling from corner to corner, top to bottom, side to side, caricaturizing Barney Google or widening Little Orphan Annie eyes by transfer onto silly putty… a careful man, but even caution tricks, and prudent men have times when strength has to be determined from tests that seemingly come from nowhere, to find us as we stand, unknowing, for even having placed a sign, “do not turn on” over the toggle, his arms followed his head into a restaurant’s kitchen fan to clean blades, tighten bolts, check wiring, then, pulling his head out, making one last adjustment, his right arm high up in the fan’s tunnel, someone’s hand reached around a corner, blindly toggling the switch… amazing how accidents occur, and what fan blades do to a man’s arm… doctors deliberated if amputation was key to gangrene possibilities, but the arm was not even cut open, only the muscle mashed to resemble hamburger, so, after consideration, they left it at a non-meddling angle, setting it, knowing [as doctors know] he would at least retain balance, even with dead weight ballast… mother pleading, “don’t tell him he’ll never use his arm again”… as white of cast laid strange against his tanned visage, its width overtaking his wiry frame, shadowing vulnerability into his features… unaware he would never regain use of his arm he temporarily did without, using left hand and left arm, but both sides of his stubbornness, he persevered in daily life, laying tiles on the kitchen floor, putting up shelves in the back washroom, only using kid power when necessary, but we hung around like the pups we were, trying to serve needs he didn’t know he had… he chopped wood, “practicing aim” he said, releasing tension, Mom knew, as one could see from lack of wallet’s mark on his backside, his frame was not one to utilize chairs much… in the later part of evenings, I watched from whatever corner I might quietly be holding up, as small beads of perspiration glittered his brow, concentration a heavy weight as through lashes slightly raised, he would look, his right hand inert… in my recall there seemed a period of time we held our breath as, aware of the unknown, and waiting… almost like an unveiling of Santa Claus only to find a white rabbit sitting at the foot of a cross… one evening he broke the silence, saying “my little finger moved,” and Mom said, “wonderful!” rushing from the room to hide tears… she only thought she knew what he did not… a pink shelled egg bearing embryonic silly putty, purchased a few days later, as her faith in him, and his belief, was stronger than any doctor’s order, and she cradled the egg home as if, in its real, an answer to what might come first, belief or faith, in what miracles might occur… with his left hand he had whittled away some of the cast from his right palm, leaving room for the pink blob to rest, as if having a life of its own, waiting, wondering, when a man’s fingers might come to curl around its pliable form… it wasn’t only he who saw his little finger move, but I knew both sides of this story and, sworn to secrecy, was sure there must have been a twitch in my eye, or perhaps I imagined the finger spasming, yet again, then, sweat channeling as if to proclaim, “look at this race he’s running,” he sat there and said “look!” whispering down seconds, “one, two, three,” forcing his little finger down to his palm, leaving a fingernail’s imprint in the silly putty, lying static in his palm, waiting, quiet faith of tannish pink… to know or not to know what can or cannot be done…I secretly believed, had he known his prognosis, his quiet resolve would have only come sooner, as it was now set in stone, till the cast, removed, the doctor turning to give him the news of gloom, while dad reached into his own back pocket via his right arm, pulled his wallet forth and said, “how much do we owe you, Doc?” then he and his wife quit the office, leaving behind a very quiet physician to mull over what medicine can do, and what faith, and will power, did. |
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| © Copyright 2001 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved | |||
Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
My body felt like silly putty while reading this! My youngest brother nearly had an arm amputated after it was cut to the bone by a sheet metal cutting machine. Doctors said "Gangrene,the arm has to go" Stevie and I responded with a "No" ...and his arm stayed, While we both prayed. That was over 20 years ago. He is still using that arm today. Thanks for the reminder that miracles do happen. |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
damn K ... thats all I can say at the moment just ... damn. you wanted speecless...you got it baby. me I know no one is to blame |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Wow! To see real beauty ~ being blindfolded helps! ~* Mysteria *~ |
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Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
p.s. I have a friend who had a stroke using that as well to try to move her hand, and now the entire of 2 East I see has either silly putty or stress balls on their trays! I hate to admit this in public but I used to use it to put the answers to tests on and take it into exams some times (oh now I am ashamed). I forgot to mention that this was also an awesome write Sunshine! To see real beauty ~ being blindfolded helps! ~* Mysteria *~ |
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paladin
since 2001-08-05
Posts 930Pensacola,Fl. |
I developed ulcer sites in my stomach due to stress.My Navy doctor prescribed a unique therapy.I was to get a coloring book and crayons.I was told to color a page at each meal.I was told not worry about staying in the lines and if I wanted a green cow do it. Three months later and a dozen coloring books.I showed no ulcer sites.I still have a box of crayons and a coloring book handy. paladin [This message has been edited by paladin (edited 08-11-2001).] |
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Logan Senior Member
since 2001-05-28
Posts 1641Arkansas |
Ahh, Sissie, NOW, I know where that strength of yours comes from. What a wonderful telling, thank you..very gentle smile |
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Marge Tindal
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Karilea~ You reached deep for this and it shows~ Faith can move mountains ... one Silly Putty at a time ~  ~*Marge*~~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ |
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RSWells Member Elite
since 2001-06-17
Posts 2533 |
Mind over what matters, sceptics scatter. I hope Dad gets to read this. Enjoyed "Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to decieve" |
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Duncan Member Ascendant
since 2001-08-07
Posts 5455 |
When I saw the title of this, I remembered doing exactly what you described...transferring comic strip characters to putty (and it had to be the Sunday paper for color). And though I read expecting something light and funny, I was entralled with each new verse. I don't know much about poetry, technically, but the flow and rhythm of this seemed perfect. And I liked the way you made a point without sounding like you were making a speech. |
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