Centro #1 (reflection)
1 January, 2010
Author: Puppet
Quiet.
Echo—a white mute.
My black face fades
like old names forgotten,
my own in letters like smoke.
There is no other way to say this.
My clouded reflection eyes me
like a bird of prey, the profile of night
swirling airborne
on the startling, ripped canvas of the sky.
It came alive there,
holes punched in a desert of clouds.
Thrust into nothing.
Brushstrokes flash, a red bird's
wings cut across my stare.
Tears freeze.
The moon swings bare on its blue cord.
I'm stone.
I'm flesh.
What you have heard is true.
Hope has been birthed among the ruins.
------- Author's Notes -------
A centro (patchwork poem of lines taken from existing poems) made of lines from "The Colonel," "Facing It," & "Notes From a Nonexistent Expedition," by Carolyn Forche, Yusef Komunyakaa, and Wislawa Szymborska, respectively. |
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Colin (69.157.6.79) -- Saturday, January 2 2010, 03:16 am this blows my mind in a good way..... |
| Puppet (69.181.45.166) -- Saturday, January 2 2010, 08:41 am Thanks Colin! It's a very fun exercise, I recommend it to everyone on this site. |
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