if ever we passed that tree again,
with branches like hanging spines,
i would not lose the stink of the fish
the maggots ate, nor the sight of their
supine white bellies, how the dried scales
caught rainbows in each tiny cell.
how some of their eyes were open,
some were closed, but some were open
and they watched in glassed stillness
our boots, our hands clasping our face,
the flies surrounding lean silver crescents.
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In the interest of reciprocity, and because I love this piece...
ReplyDeletethis is a wonderful, tight, little sketch. I like "with branches like hanging spines" and "our hands clasping our face" and "lean silver crescents."
I honestly think this could benefit from being even tighter, because the quickness is what gives it intensity, what gives the images their strength, for instance while i understand the impulse to repeat "some were open" a second time, it tripped me up and took me out of the flow of this piece. Also take your own advice and try writing the poem backwards, i found interesting things when i did it.
Hey, and happy birthday.