Year 12
A yellow wall full of framed photos. In the center
frame, a pair of scissors. Underneath the framed
scissors, a row of three carving knives with neon
green plastic handles. Underneath that, to the
right: a smiling, plump woman with short gray
hair holds up a very large triangular knife. She
holds the knife in a fist raised above her shoulder.
To the left: a simple serrated blade with a wooden
handle on a dark blue background. Next to
that , a small pair of pinking shears, ornately
framed, a cherub dancing at each corner.
A yellow wall full of framed photos. In the center
frame, a pair of scissors. Underneath the framed
scissors, a row of three carving knives with neon
green plastic handles. Underneath that, to the
right: a smiling, plump woman with short gray
hair holds up a very large triangular knife. She
holds the knife in a fist raised above her shoulder.
To the left: a simple serrated blade with a wooden
handle on a dark blue background. Next to
that , a small pair of pinking shears, ornately
framed, a cherub dancing at each corner.
4 Comments:
The way I read this poem, or 'saw in my head' is probably a better expression, was like a set of movie camera shots:
A yellow wall full of framed photos. [Camera moves. Blur. Refocus.]
In the center frame, a pair of scissors. [Camera moves. Blur. Refocus.]
Underneath the framed scissors, a row of three carving knives with neon
green plastic handles. [Camera moves. Blur. Refocus.]
and so on. I even imagined a whir to accompany the shift.
Didn't get the title though. Twelve years married?
Interesting piece.
Spending the week in my childhood home, seeing everything from the persepctive of adult me, mother me, this poem has a certain resonance. The metaphorical knives and sharp things. I keep thinking, what do I really want to say about going home? This sort of clinches it for me, on some level, anyway.
Love the woman with the knife.
Wow, Great poem.Please check out my blog.
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