Poem: The Soloist

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
Big Tent Poetry

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5 comments for “Poem: The Soloist

  1. Liz
    October 16, 2010 at 2:42 am

    Wonderful imagery. I’m really savoring how you build up to that last line: “she’s kissing our song” — wonderful.

  2. October 16, 2010 at 5:46 am

    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.

    • ekswitaj
      October 16, 2010 at 12:49 pm

      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

  3. October 16, 2010 at 5:11 pm

    An unusual take on the wordle words. A delightful and finely tuned song.

  4. October 16, 2010 at 5:12 pm

    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

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