against the cool cement, tendons flexing, knees
peeling from the bone. I drift to the roots,
a little slinking. The pursed ashen lips
are a mess for the dawn, and soon enough,
my veins are the night. Twelve ribs crackle
and clamor from sight, and the warm air rots
beneath thin almond eyes and tangled brows
whether someone left the light on, or not.
Enjoyed some of the images here - sweeping heels, veins are the night, ribs crackle
ReplyDeletePerfection.
ReplyDeleteHi Madison,
ReplyDeleteThis is a powerful poem. I've read it through several times, yesterday and today, and I always find more depth. Every line is unique, written in your own way, carefully combined to add up to an emotion, culminating in the final line.
This is what I call an authentic poem; one that could only be written by you, conveying what you wish to say, with enough clues for the reader, they can construct their own meaning or glean some of yours. The imagery, the rhythm and the construction of the poem lead the reader; and I feel as though I am walking, too. The last line, to me, conveys both a sadness and a strength.
I love the whole poem, but this is my favorite little section:
"... sweeping heels
against the cool cement, tendons flexing, knees
peeling from the bone. I drift to the roots,
a little slinking."
The images are arresting-- nicely written!
ReplyDeleteMy potluck is here: http://mairmusic.wordpress.com/2010/02/03/week-68/
very compelling image.
ReplyDeletelovely piece.
nice..
ReplyDeleteBeautiful Poem
ReplyDeleteThis poem actually gave me the chills!!
ReplyDelete12 ribs crackle --- brr... sounded real scary!
Madison, you really have a superb way with words! They conjure such vivid images...it's like watching a movie with eyes shut! Amazing!!!
Poetry Potluck is lucky to have you here! Thanks a bunch for participating!
Thanks for the support to Monday poetry potluck,
ReplyDeleteHappy Friday!
Hope to see you next Monday.
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