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"viewfinders" poems
I am motherless. She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn. Watching her fall has made me rise I will be her polar opposite. Her failure is my success. I was numb to her death, Like watching through one-way glass, My heart feeling no pain, no loss. Just relief. I am safe now. I am a muzzle. I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself, Bottled like colored sand and shells. They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes, Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean. But every time I talk myself down, And push the words back down, Fingers thrusting cork underwater. From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness, To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said. I am a dream drawer With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint A colonial home, On a tree lined street, A square front yard, A big oak tree, Green grass and a wraparound porch. Inside, There are varnished floors, Built-in bookcases, An Ikea kitchen, And a Pottery Barn living room. The kids wear Abercrombie, The school bus stops at our front door, and I am a mother for my children and for myself. I am a street photographer. Windows are my viewfinders, showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click. I am fascinated by the insides of a home. I wish I could stop time and walk inside, To see what’s behind that glass photograph. I am a poet. My dreams and desires, My feelings and frustrations, Are not spoken, but written. I cannot just “turn on” my poetry, I need something to speak to me, Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight, Or a restless night. They whisper at me, Cast me meaningful glances. I am a miner, Searching for diamonds in a harmony, Where I just have to close my eyes, Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums. I am Jonah, Wrapped in a musical hurricane, I am surrounded and forced to forget Everything but what I’m hearing.
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Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:43 PM UTC
sg
Puzzle Pieces.
I am motherless. She sits on the hutch in our dining room, in a ceramic urn. Watching her fall has made me rise I will be her polar opposite. Her failure is my success. I was numb to her death, Like watching through one-way glass, My heart feeling no pain, no loss. Just relief. I am safe now. I am a muzzle. I keep my feelings and frustrations to myself, Bottled like colored sand and shells. They rest on the tip of my tongue sometimes, Rehearsed words to finally say what I mean. But every time I talk myself down, And push the words back down, Fingers thrusting cork underwater. From time to time I wish to shed a skin of attentiveness, To take the words for what they are, rather than how they’re said. I am a dream drawer With broad strokes of man-made nostalgia I paint A colonial home, On a tree lined street, A square front yard, A big oak tree, Green grass and a wraparound porch. Inside, There are varnished floors, Built-in bookcases, An Ikea kitchen, And a Pottery Barn living room. The kids wear Abercrombie, The school bus stops at our front door, and I am a mother for my children and for myself. I am a street photographer. Windows are my viewfinders, showing a moment of life inside of a house. Click. I am fascinated by the insides of a home. I wish I could stop time and walk inside, To see what’s behind that glass photograph. I am a poet. My dreams and desires, My feelings and frustrations, Are not spoken, but written. I cannot just “turn on” my poetry, I need something to speak to me, Like my toes in a backyard pool during twilight, Or a restless night. They whisper at me, Cast me meaningful glances. I am a miner, Searching for diamonds in a harmony, Where I just have to close my eyes, Smile, and be swallowed by the whale of melody and drums. I am Jonah, Wrapped in a musical hurricane, I am surrounded and forced to forget Everything but what I’m hearing.
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I. You told me you still had Those roles of film, Undeveloped. The ones that you took of me In the summer. II. I wonder If you will ever see me again As I used to be. III. I wish you had a darkroom For my soul; For all you've ever seen Have been scratched Negatives. IV. I miss looking at your features Through viewfinders. V. You were the whole world Inside a tiny glass frame.
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May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
loreena-lynn
On Film
I. You told me you still had Those roles of film, Undeveloped. The ones that you took of me In the summer. II. I wonder If you will ever see me again As I used to be. III. I wish you had a darkroom For my soul; For all you've ever seen Have been scratched Negatives. IV. I miss looking at your features Through viewfinders. V. You were the whole world Inside a tiny glass frame.
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