The Writer
Poetry, 2018
On Crafting a Plot Twist
the writer
sits
on the cushioned chair,
ink
gliding smoothly
across
fine paper
young lady
in her mid-20’s
clicks on her laptop
she likes to call it—
setting the mood
‘melancholic’ playlist
on her
spotify
welcomes the plot
Luke tried to think of a way to comfort his miserable girlfriend. She wouldn’t even look at him. her eyes were smudged with mascara and they accompanied her tear-stained cheeks.
“Sierra, come on babe. Your best friend committed suicide. She’s gone. Stop crying.”
the writer
crafts the
plot twist
line by line,
her characters come to
life
letters finding their partners,
sentences joining their own cliques—
paragraphs
they stick on her skin
like tattoos
her words take their
places in borders,
“quotation marks”
​
the plot’s intensity—
rope
twisting
loop by loop
knots ready to be
untied
soft, sun-kissed skin
into
thin sheets of
paper
words seep
in her
veins
her back
straightens,
layers of skin
binding with
linen thread
her crop top
stiffens
a hardcover making
its way
words start to flow
out of her body:
The sniffling girl turned her head to him, hazel bangs covering her face. Luke gently tilted her chin, his thumb wiping away the tears under her dark circles.
“N-no, Luke. How can I s-stop crying knowing that I could’ve stabbed her one last time to hear her scream in agony?”
​