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MsParataxis Profile
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Gusts and Debris


Gusts and debris and ninety degrees. Litter of winds
from the hackberry tree on dirt, on pavement—
night coming on and all still now. Clawed high
in the crook, this, all the Barred Owl sees:
The pickup down in the lot, its color: worn, faded.
That he, upstairs in 2B, asleep in a damp sleeveless tee.
Empty cans on the floor, one rolls for the open door.
And she? And she? All heard last night from inside
the walls: their thunder, all thunder. Then the taunt
from the tree: Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you
a-alll? And the question in the hunter’s black eyes:
what shrew tonight? What mole, what squirrel?
And his rabbit? Nowhere to find. She’s scurried
into the copse behind. All bruises, she hides.
Oct/22/2011, 9:29 pm Link to this post Send Email to MsParataxis   Send PM to MsParataxis
 
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Re: Gusts and Debris


Pardon the intrusion - Terr asked to see some work and I thought three women in various degrees of agitation might do well to get a little poetic trouble started... blame it on the moon.
Oct/22/2011, 9:38 pm Link to this post Send Email to MsParataxis   Send PM to MsParataxis
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Gusts and Debris


Not an intrusion, Ms P. You are a member of the board. Just taken a vacation. Look around and you will find good company. And I sure did ask. Yes I did.

I've read your three poems posted tonight back to back, rather incautiously I'll add after the fact. Selene read as smart and fun. Strawberry Moon stopped me. Then this one.

The thing I notice about this poem is its deliberation. Prosodic means, at every turn and every line, operate softly. Internal rhyme, assonance, all the means used to bring me to this: a battered woman hiding furtive, like an animal, in the hackberry trees. You've played your reader here, knowing what you were after.

I thought I knew your poetry and the extent of your range. I do not.

Tere
Oct/23/2011, 12:13 am Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 


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