old, mottled things. didn't really have anything new for you. this is from awhile ago, during the cello/house phase. i need to make some sort of collection for those...anyway you should post the immemor one, i really liked it. <3
how could you. she
rises whirling from the
chair. attacking the bed
with eyes,
tired.
the house has stopped
its haunting,
the voluminous pregnancy of the room
has gone.
taking the patterns
of the floor, removing them --
how could you.
a bathtub drains slowly,
the slurp of water and
now the floor is wet,
the floor is
wet.
the chair wishing for a
ghost as guest.
her eyes taking in the
water patterns, the bed --
empty chair,
emptying bathtub.
if she steps the sound
hangs limp in the air
like some kind of testimony.
1 comment:
i find the saturday poems satisfying, in a strange way- the confirmation of my own, indecipherable, manic feelings.
i really love how the poem toys with the idea of emptiness- the impotent anger in the first stanza mirrored by the slow drain of water, the empty chair, the empty sound.
the echoes in the form sort of flesh out the echoes in sense: the idea of memory as physical trace, something haunting in its absence. the parallelism and anaphora serve well also, especially "now the floor is wet, the floor is wet"- (i love the slant rhyme of "wet" and "guest", taking us back to a line from one of the earlier pieces, "he thinks i keep my sleep here/ i keep a slipper"
the only places where i am unsure are the two patterns: taken from the floor (incidentally, is it "off the floor"?), but retraced in water. and i don't quite know what to do with "testimony"- the mad boil of emotion in this woman's mind is sort of begging for something more finite...mmm, mbhot tell me vat ewe vur thinkeeng. love, kaygan
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