glossy purple lips pluck
drooping nylon strings
hooked into the muddy gourd
before we made a doll out of her skin
we asked her to extract pulp & seeds
on the staircase where our tea
over-steeped, turned bitter
we don't recall her name
she's kissing our song
Written in response to Big Tent Poetry’s Monday Prompt for 11 October 2010
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Wonderful imagery. I’m really savoring how you build up to that last line: “she’s kissing our song” — wonderful.
The Startle
Shaken, I hastily
search my memory for signs
of your shadowy
presence. Finding none,
I assume your cleverness
is trumping my training.
The tea stain is compelling.
Who can she be, I muse.
No matter. I will hunt
you down by and by.
what casts light
& flesh & teeth
instead of shadow
can only be seen by ears
or tasted as a whisper
you find your memories
burn the path
to fields of Tian Mu tea
and when they blow away again
mocking summer snow
she’s already gone
to Yunnan where the coffee grows
An unusual take on the wordle words. A delightful and finely tuned song.
Elizabeth, my first time here, through Big Tent, where I am meeting lots of wonderful poets in the community.
“Before we made a doll out of her skin…” Haunting. At first I thought you were talking about carving a pumpkin, but this is so much more than that. You have a way of caressing words, making them sing… plucking their strings?
I loved this. Thank you, Amy Barlow Liberatore