This swing is tracing beautiful shapes in the air as it untwists itself.
(I lay on the tanbark next to you and my throat was sore with silence)
My sweet puppy who isn't mine, gnawing at the lawn to my left.
(I made up prophecies for each of you in the kitchen)
Slapping the back of my hand where it itches, and my bones are there, fading and red.
(I watched the stars wheel back and forth over my head to avoid looking at you on the next swing)
And believed I knew what was going through your head
and flying and further from our tiptoes we swing loose into stillness


Cheray Natalie 5/19/2009 6:27 PM  

I love your way with words Culieann!
They paint a beautiful picture in my mind

maya ganesan 5/19/2009 6:30 PM  

Oooh this is really pretty!

odessa 5/19/2009 7:38 PM  

oooh, the last line is breathtaking...can i steal it? :)

Erin 5/19/2009 8:27 PM  

You have this really spooky way of taking things from my head and putting them down in words.

Q 5/20/2009 5:43 AM  

This is one of those poems where more of the poem is unwritten than written.

pinkapplecore 5/20/2009 7:28 AM  

ooooh the last line, spot on. And it's not because it's in italicizes haha, the swing loose into stillness.

When I was younger there was this neighbor next to my grandmother who had a big two (three if your a little kid)seat swing. We would twist it till it wouldn't twist anymore, jump on it and let go, weeeeeeeeeee, hahaha fun times...^. ^

Bambola 5/20/2009 6:01 PM  

You are amazing. I will probably say that for each poem you write, but it's true.

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

  © Blogger templates Brooklyn by 2008

Back to TOP