SOCIAL SIDE
POETRY
DIARY ENTRIES
the reach of dianthe
mist crawls through parted feet
and swirls around hems
and pockets
and cufflinks
and buttons
until a face appears before
a locked gaze on darkness
suddenly a radiant beam—
like the unfolding of a bloom—
grows within the steady gaze
and begins to sing a song
within the heart of the beholder
songs of sorrow
grief
pain
loss
and
love.
every verse connects
every refrain reaches
down into the soul
pulling something out:
something raw
something real
something pure
mist rolls away
taking breath with it—
a part of the beholder
now lost and
forgotten.
Déjà Vu”
I’m the black and white strip of film hidden in your grandmother’s photo box
That never got the chance to develop,
A ray of sunshine, darkness enveloped,
A secret the world had to tell up, up, up
And away from the place where my mind was wiped clearer than a sinner’s
New conscience after Sunday confession.
Purer than the spirit of my soul’s possession,
My husband’s intentions called into question why, why why
Does is seem like the only way to feel free is to make peace with the
Vainly gilded demons who intimidate me?
My bed isn’t nearly as warm as it seems.
The only escape, a thing of my dreams go, go, go
Across oceans as blue as the sky I’ll never get a glimpse at,
For every new dawn is followed by the shadows of dusk.
Try as I do, do as I must.
This is me—Dianthe Lusk.
Dear Diary,
​
As the days continue to go by, I become more and more confused about who I am. Doctor Briggs is trying his best to make me feel comfortable, and though I appreciate it, I am completely overwhelmed with my new situation. He refuses to tell me parts of my past that I believe might be very important. He acts like he wants the best for me, but fails to realize how uncomfortable it is to be the only African-American in a group full of white people. I know every single one of them thinks they are better than I am, but they continue to show some (most likely fake) sympathy anyways. I seem to catch Molly and Cora Scott staring at me, with a smug smirk on their faces, quite often. Or is my mind just playing tricks on me? Ugh. I want to get out of this place and go back to where I used to be – if only I knew where that was. And, am I wrong or does Doctor Briggs act as though he is in love with me? Oh the struggle of somehow managing to lose your life in the middle of it.
DIANTHE
Dear Diary,
​
Today I died. Well, not really, I mean, I came back, obviously, or else I wouldn't be writing in this thing. That sounds crazy, but then again, I am crazy. I should explain. There was a train accident, I don't remember much of it, but I do remember dying. It was cold. Not in a good way, because I was dying, and if dying feels good to you, then death isn't your only problem, if you catch my drift. But it didn't feel bad either. It was as if I was meant to die, like it was right. That is until I was brought back to life by one of the doctors in the hospital I had been brought to. Yeah, I don't get it either. It was as if I had been jerked awake from a long sleep. Pretty rude, if you ask me. Of course, I forgave him the minute I saw him. He was so very familiar, thought I still can't recall where I've seen him before. He was gorgeous, but then again, I may have been delirious due to the overstimulation of my heart beating again. You never realize how fond you are of breathing until you're no longer able to do so. I'm getting a bit tired, so I'll end it there. The first chance I get, I'm going to catch that doctor's name and ask him if he recognizes me.
​
DIANTHE
Dear Diary,
I don’t know much at this point. I’m in a hospital; doctors and nurses and students are poking and prodding at me as if I am a particularly interesting science experiment. I just know that when I opened my eyes, and saw that man—I’d seen him before. This long sleep I had been in brought about some strong dreams, and he was there. I don't know how, and I don’t know why, but I knew him. This man, who they are telling me “saved my life” or “gave me back my life”, I know him. How can I reconcile this impossible idea—of dreaming of someone before I have ever met them—with what I know in my core to be true. For me, there are many questions without answers. I suppose I have started a journey of discovery, and I will have to see where this path leads.
​
DIANTHE