Rescue - Reminiscem #3
The 3rd Reminiscem (my old poetry with my ‘modern’ commentary on it). I should warn that this one necessitates the below trigger warning given the topic of the poem.
Trigger Warning: Suicide
Rescue
When the bush fires come,
koalas remain in the trees.
Sharp nails dig into peeling bark.
They will not run away,
even when afraid.
To save them,
you drag each down.
*
Rip the noose from her neck,
will breath,
pray for normal --
a gasp, a smile, a blink.
Kneel in front of her.
Don’t scream.
The choice had already been made.
By interrupting,
send the message:
Breathe, breathe,
breathe whether you want to or not
damnit.
A ridiculous scene:
her coughing will erupt.
Air pumped into lungs
ready to sleep.
Imagine a cliff edge;
she wanted to be part of the view.
Let her cling.
She will say “I’m fine”
when asked.
*
Sometimes the bear rips open
the skin of her saviour.
She grasps hard;
she needs a strong branch.
Her hold transfers an animal scent
lasting longer than the burning wood.
Commentary: Sometimes I feel like the poems are so perfectly crafted (in my eyes) that I can’t believe I even wrote them. This one is not that though. I find multiple parts of it awkward, and I might revise it. But it sticks in mind – the story and some of the lines are striking.
This poem is based on an event that happened when I was studying abroad in Australia during college. A girl in my dormitory who I was friendly with was depressed. She borrowed a CD of mine, and I went to check on her. The music by Jewel was playing loudly; I called out her name and went into her room. She was in the process of hanging herself, choking against a rope hanging from her ceiling. Thankfully I had time to yell for help, hold her and save her.
The experience marked me though, and I remember feeling a lingering darkness that I had trouble shaking. In the bright sunshine in Australia, I felt displaced and shaken. Beautiful birds landed on the clothes lines and cute possums were in trees, and all I saw was death.
I was told by someone to shake off the gloom I felt; it wasn’t my tragedy to carry. But something had transferred. The questions that were in my friend’s head that led her there seemed to plague me. It took awhile for that feeling to fade, and this poem came from that place: “Her hold transfers an animal scent lasting longer than the burning wood.”
I look back though, and I’m glad I was there even if it marked me or maybe because it did. While we’ve lost touch, at some point I learned she was in a relationship and became a mother. That might not have happened if something hadn’t made me worry about her that night. It’s one of many lessons I’ve learned about the “animal” connection we can feel to each other and its importance.
