What started out twelve months ago, turned into twelve weeks, then twelve days, and not too long ago, twelve hours.

I am nervous, apprehensive, wondering if this is really the right thing to do.

The whole thing will take twelve minutes, and after that, what then? Will it last beyond the next twelve days, twelve weeks, twelve months? Will I be fortunate enoough to see this make the twelve year mark?

Mother told me I would have the jitters, but this is really scary, but when I say, "I do" then a new world begins. Am I really ready for this? And what do I do if I have twelve kids?

And to think, I turned down the chance to be a nun.

twelve seconds was all it took

for

everything

to

change

like dominoes

clattering on

a tile floor

toppling one by one

a glance behind

at a beautiful

past

and a look ahead

at a terrible future

One

Lonely girl

Two

He finds her

Three

He takes her in

Four

He says he'll never leave

Five

He holds her so close

Six

He knocks down her walls

Seven

He shows his true self

Eight

He calls her names

Nine

He pushes her away

Ten

He hurts her

Eleven

He leaves her

Twelve

Lonely girl again

twelve beats per minute

as God hums in me

underneath where my heart’s

supposed to be

aching throb

then below

where emptiness

lies, flies stick to an ointment

i never wanted

the things i saw to happen

something else did

not me

still, rainbows

of eggshell whites

to unstarred nights

tear an arc over my skies

the trajectories of things

I don’t want to carry

lobbed over distant hills

across vacant seas

w̶h̶i̶s̶t̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶o̶w̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ wailing at me

they’re still there

even when the sun shines

even when light peeks inbetween

before the blue sheet turns tinfoil

and gives me respite in the rain,

camo over their songs

till my ears flush red again

Twelve Seconds

Thats all it took

To take a peek

And get a

Good Look

His eyes were

Cruel

His lips were

Curled

In an evil

Smile

that could

Shatter

the world.

I thought to

Myself

He's perfect

If this

Villian beyond my

Door could

Spook me to my

Core

By standing in the

Shadows,

What more could he do

If he

Wielded a

Sword!

He could laugh as a

Mainiac does when

He's got an

Idea

He could come up with

Evil plots

That make you

Shake in your

Shoes

This villian on the

Threshold of my mind

Stepped in without

Invitation

He strutted with

Confidence

Smiled with

Malice

Raised his hands and said

"At your service."

What's his name?

I know not yet

But

Inspiration has

Struck

I must not let it go

It cannot get away

Excuse me as I take my pen and

Invite my villain to stay.

The teacher breathed in the soil rich scent of the earth as he lay down. He closed his eyes. It had been a long day. He was tired. The wind rustled the thin branches of the shrubs dotting the hillside. It stirred the hem of his robe.

It is chilly this night, the teacher thought. It may take time to fall asleep.

He opened his eyes. The stars were just beginning to emerge. The teacher counted each speck of light as it surfaced in the blue-black sky.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five

Six,

Seven,

Eight,

His eyelids fluttered. He tried to keep them open by force.

Nine,

Ten,

He gave in but continued to count.

Eleven,

Twelve . . .

Twelve princesses dipping and twirling,

Holding the edges of large hoop skirts,

Unaware of me in the invisible cloak.

I don't dance, yet I wanted to while listening

To my mother's melodic yet tired voice

As she read the book a third time.

A few weeks later, she got me another,

About twelve dancing brothers and their stepmom

Who followed and saw how happy they were

When they were out dancing instead of home.

I didn't know then that they were the same,

Just a different setting and a different time

And Nikes and Converse rather than heels.

I had had books with kids that looked like me

But not everyone did, as I learned one day,

When I snuck the book to school in first grade

And my teacher read it to everyone in class.

I'm too old for Grimm and pictures of princesses

Though I still think of them and Rumpelstiltskin

And wonder how many others I haven't read

And how many fairy tales I have without knowing it.

She picked twelve hairs from her head, laid them out

across the table in a row of crooked lines

as if they were cracks

and she counted them again and again

one, two, three

and on and on

the clock’s a circle and now she can’t stop because

every time she gets to twelve it keeps on going

round to one again.

She took twelve licks of the ice cream cone that

melted down her fingers, chocolate

drips like powdered blood drying

on her wrists

and then twelve more, twelve more,

until it was gone and she

felt lost because

what was there left to do now?

She sang twelve songs

without stopping, no talking

while the notes rolled off her tongue

and she thought she might know what had

been wrong before, and when

she had finished

the twelfth song,

she paused

and sang another one.

What creates the infinitive trait

that leaves twelve lying endlessly in wait?

Which never waits or repeats a date

yet bravely traces a figure eight?

Whose race between night and day

Made Mobius a right-of-way?

Time.

A direct route to a point in time,

To a memory of joy, fun and hope

A spring awakening of a cherry blossom

The newness of existence infecting the air.

A turn leads onto a path of curves

Like a snake moving slowly in the long grass

Bringing the truth of all things living,

Destruction, lies and more

Overtaking any glimmer of hope

Of happiness and love desired.

Another turn, a final route,

Biting as cold as a winter freeze

Touching as the darkest of nights,

To a destination, of Twelve journey’s end

A sigh of relief, a free spirit evermore.

by GinaM