In this pose, I am a child again,
arcing backwards from the old
brown couch. The ordinary room,
with its worn black rug, scattered
with pink roses like none that grew
out in the yard, became a reef,
crowned with the tiny
pulsing mouths of coral,
their home a crypt and
nursery,built on the others' bones.
The t.v.'s featureless face
gave back my own face, turned
alien and odd, and I, a curious
dolphin, weightless and free.
9 comments:
I like it... Still think this a neat series. The hard part os such a set task is to push outward and make each "big" enough. But that may happen almost automatically when the little corals of the individual poems make a reef.
Ah! A wonderfully surprising perspective.
Who are you mystery Robbi? Marly?
I am trying to make that reef happen. With the last two of the poems, I'm trying to go beyond the individual pose.
Thanks Lou!
Yes, that was me--Marly thinking about Robbi. Doofusness. I did leave a note but it must have been swallowed by the blogspot monster.
A really nice one--love the ocean imagery, the feeling of being swept up in the piece. It certainly captures the moment of the pose, and transcends it!
It's okay Marly. I know about the monster. Sometimes people's feelings get hurt when their comments simply disappear, through no fault of my own.
And thanks Robin! I wondered whether it was too far from the pose, but I don't think so now.
yes, so much imagery, I love it. A common living room becomes a populated underseas world?
yoga as poetry in motion and transformation indeed.
Thanks Liz! It's good to hear from you.
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