Saturday, December 7, 2013

Out of the Silence (Poem 249)

The water, a silk scarf, pooled teal; 
a door slammed at the foot 
of the cliff; and out of the silence, 
a wall [navy, brown, colors repeated] 
arose. Not a guttural animal 
in the mountains beyond, 
but a cry, a calculated move. 
The sky above my pencil intended
to draw attention, scratching 
on the rough cold to convey 
pitiful suffering. Pressed, we both
knew the paper, like the wind, 
in truth, did not exist. Blustering 
in the shadows of the wall, was he; 
evergreens were the only sound,
a well-planned retribution. 
Emerald-tender grass spread
like an indictment, a rich carpet
laid at my feet: My hopes, 
my feelings, and my needs
welcomed and sustained me.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

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