Spudtacular! (14) with @saltwaterlungs

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Hello, everyone, and welcome to the fourteenth edition of Spudtacular! (with an awkward interview). We feature the amazing saltwaterlungs , otherwise known as Hannah!


Iron CageCan you feel my heart
slamming against your bones
like a crow in a cage?
Do you gnaw at your cheek
until you taste the iron in you
each time that it tremors?
I sure as hell hope so.
divinationI wish I had something
that I could call a portent,
that I could swear into your skin
like an omen;
I wish I had a promise
that I could keep no matter
what.
But I cannot read the tarot cards
in your skin
despite their weather-beaten folds,
nor do I understand
the lines on your palms
any better than I do myself.
I'm not a fortune-teller,
our love isn't a carnival game,
and there will always be something about you
that resists any attempt
to define it.
You think you can
bounce from tent to tent
to see the freaks held
in my hall of broken mirrors;
You're wrong.
No crystal ball, no scrying bowl
can close the gap between us.
the Sherry in the GlassI.
Alter? When the hills do
bring me the sunset in a cup
could I but ride indefinite
down Time’s quaint stream
II.
Exultation is going
further in the summer than the birds
going to heaven!
III.
He touched me so I live to know
I never lost as much as twice,
just lost when I was saved
like some old-fashioned miracle.
IV.
My worthiness is all my doubt,
not any sunny tone
of bronze or blaze
V.
Pink, small, and punctual,
Remembrance has a rear and front,
so bashful when I spied her
VI.
The Bible is an antique novel
Unto my books so good to turn
VII.
Victory comes late;
while I was fearing it, it came.
You cannot put a fire out.


Hey! Is there anything you'd like to tell about yourself to the readers?
Hello! I'm Hannah, and I know of two cool things about me: I played a purple cow in a play. I keep a box of black and white photographs of people I don't know because they speak to me and inspire me. I also

Your name's recently changed from NonsenseQueen to saltwaterlungs. Why the switch?
Ah, yes. I should have seen this coming. I thought my old username was childish (funny because I technically still am a kid), but I also felt it represented my old poetry and not my new, bettering self on here. I figured if I didn't want to get stuck with it forever, I would need to change right now before I gained too many followers on here!

You've received a DD on 'honey-filled hearts'. How did it feel receiving it? What inspired the piece?
I remember that moment pretty clearly. I came on and I saw all of the feedback messages, and I was terribly confused. I thought someone had spammed me or something, so I checked my messages, and they all said something like "Congrats on the DD!" and, thinking it was some very elaborate prank, I scrolled down to the bottom of the page and I saw my little five-liner in the DD section! It was completely surreal, and I yelled "YES!" really loud and my parents thought I was crazy for being so excited. I still am in shock over the amount of atention my little poem doodle has recieved!

That poem's inspiration is a blur for me though. I just sat down and started writing, honestly. I guess the words were on simmer for so long that when I pulled them off of the metaphorical back burner of my mind, they just came so easily. I think I only wrote three drafts total, which is incredibly small. I normally write at least five.

Pasta, noodles, or neither, and why?
I'm pretty sure they're the same thing, but, for the interview's sake, I will use a dictionary. So, according to the dictionary, pasta is Italian, and noodles are for soup. So, pasta for sure! I love Italian food!

Who are your biggest inspirations, both on dA and in real life?
Oh no, uh, um, EVERYONE?! But seriously, everyone on here is so influential and special and inspiring that I can hardly pick. your-methamphetamine, Sammur-amat, toxic-nebulae, DearPoetry dietcocaine, and momo-madness always leave me out of breath whenever I read their poems, but those are just a few people on here that pull at my heartstrings with their work!

Link us to some of your favorite Deviations from others? Your own gallery?
These ones make my heart ache every time I read them.
Fire With an Aftertaste of Chocolate“Lily. What are the trees like?”
The two children sat alone under a great oak tree on the playground. All the other kids were gone. They’d found others to run around and play tag with or build small ‘castles’ that looked rather like mounds of dirt. Ethan couldn’t do any of these things, though. He couldn’t see the sunlight or the trees of the ground beneath his feet, not even his mother’s face when she kissed him on the forehead goodnight.
Ethan was blind.
“Trees are magnificent,” Lily began. She didn’t really know how to start. How do you describe something to a person that’s never seen anything? “They have a thick base, it’s called a trunk, which you know, and it’s grey-brown/ That’s the color of a winter day or the sky when it’s sad, that feeling in the air before it rains.” Lily knew she wasn’t making any sense. Her mother told her so, that blurting out the first thing
<da:thumb id="387716123"/> Cancer has a smell.Old classics,
lilac air-fresheners,
the half cup of
peppermint ice cream
that’s been
sitting in your freezer
for weeks, and cat litter.
He won’t eat anymore,
but there are
piles and piles
of dirty dishes
sitting in the sink.
He’s slowly
disintegrating
before your eyes.
You can wrap
your whole self
around his tiny bones
now.
You can hold him
like he used to hold you
all those years ago.
And you are angry.
You try to find
someone,
or something
to blame.
You hate doctors,
and you hate
November now.
November means
birthdays, diagnoses,
chemo treatments,
and realization.
You have to force yourself
to stop crying,
every day.
This is the one person
who’s always had faith
in you.
He’s read every poem
and hoarded every award
you ever won.
You ignore statistics,
because roses
they always
smell nicer.

Mature Content



Of my own work, I would choose: To My Biology TextbookOn page 159 of my biology textbook, it reads,
“...cancer is the uncontrolled growth of cells”
as though that could explain everything,
and I thought it did for a time.
But my textbook never warned me
that his skin would pale
to a point where I could see
the blue freight trains
carrying eighteen pills
throughout his frail body.
My textbook never warned me
that his watery irises would freeze over,
that he would hurl insults like knives,
and that he would clench his jaw
as tightly as his fist clenched his wine glass
because the only person to blame is himself,
and he can’t swallow that as easily
as he can the olives in his martinis.
And my textbook never warned me
that it would be this difficult to breathe
because of my acute awareness
that his breaths are limited,
and that there would be nothing I could do
but soldier on searching for that silver lining
clinging to these foreboding thunderheads.
This piece is incredibly personal to me and I worked for a week straight on it withg over eight drafts. It took me even longer to find the words and the courage to look back at my emotions at the time and create something.

Do you feel there's any writers here who are not receiving the attention they deserve?
Of course! Some include GuinevereToGwen, Shoeborn, anobrain, itselliegasp, SpiralingSpontaneity, LeftUnfinished, SpiderwebWisher, and so many more!

You suddenly have the urge to breakdance in a public place. Do you succumb to it?
Of course. Always breakdance.

Do you have any advice for new writers coming to dA and hoping to make some friends?
Yes! I recommend two things: faving and commenting. Mostly commenting though. That's why I put it on the end because statistics show-- getting off topic, sorry.

Okay! Faving lets people know your name and you're interested in writing and their work. Most people cruise over to pages to thank you, and they will see your profile that way. Make sure your profile is set up nicely, because that's their first impression and taste of what you can do. Showcase your best work on that page, and, if time allows and it interests them, they will read that and sometimes even favebomb your entire gallery because they like you so much!

Commenting, however, is what gets you not only devoted watchers, but also friends. Check out their interests on their profile and comment if you guys have something in common! You're sure to make friends that way, as most writers on here are SO NICE! Comment on their work as well! Thoughtful and insightful comments on themes or literary devices and writerly things tend to spark a rather fun, intelligent conversation which will lead to writer fellowship and respect!

Do you know how awesome you are?
I was aware that I'm pretty cool, maybe even hip and funky, but I was not aware that I was awesome.

Well, she certainly is awesome. :la:

For Two BoysI have imagined
how your hands would feel
playing my piano key spine
and my cello-curved hips,
and how your lips would feel
between the plateau of my shoulder
and the slope of my neck—
I hate myself for it.
I can mouth all of his stories,
read all of his expressions,
and tell you all of his favorites,
as if he is the language
I have spent years studying.
I don’t even know
your father’s name
or your favorite season,
and some girl could have
the lines in your hands,
freckles on your face,
and baritone of your voice
memorized and playing
on repeat in her mind.
Even though our class swears
that we’re madly in love,
I have not once wondered
what flavor his lips carry
or how his body would feel
pressed firmly against mine.
I don’t even deserve you
in my wildest fantasies
if she knows you like I know
Shakespeare’s sonnets
and Plath’s poetry.
Sometimes I’m afraid
that when he catches my eye
from across the crowded class,
it’s because he wan
nicomy birdcage boy, you’re letting
your rusty inhibitions bar you in,
and if you didn’t tie that phrase
“i don’t deserve it” round your neck
and tug at those knots like a leash
whenever you wanted something,
you would have the entire galaxy
cupped in your palms.
and, my birdcage boy,
you do deserve it.
UnfathomableI have been told that my eyes
are like someone bottled you up
and poured your color into my irises.
Sure, it’s a lovely compliment,
but I am not you.
You are a child playing dress-up
with your sister’s coats and frocks
because you want to be something bigger;
and she’s sweltering with jealousy
that you can wear those grays and blues
better than she ever could.
You are an angst-ridden teen
who dyed and spiked her hair
to hear her mother scream,
and no matter how many times
she tells you that your boyfriend
is a washed up good-for-nothing,
you keep coming back to kiss the shoreline
because you think that his love feels right.
You are a middle-aged mother
glancing over her shoulder
to check for those nosy neighbors
while putting up your new windowpanes
of sapphire stained glass to cloak
those blistering waves that occupy
your pristine, picket fence house.
You are the woman that sailors
have sworn to for centuries
and the woman that will keep
scientists surprised for year



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