Thursday, July 28, 2005

Dinner Table II

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4 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ah, see? I knew you could do me without having a photo of my actual physical self:

Half There

That's me behind the hands, a self-
portrait sketched in pencil,
smudged and fading into background.

That's me, an empty pan, stained
with blood or rust or paint, dulled, yes, yet, still reflective.

That curve of silver light,
that crescent moon, waning,
yes, that pathetic half

of a halo is the shape
of my despair. Can't you see
my sadness is the night,

that my depression is angeled?
That's me, the shadow cast,
that lack of light, the absolute

blackness of an eclipse, lunar, yes. That's me, the bowl
of fruit, the shriveled plum,

the uneaten apple abandoned
on the table--but there's no bowl
in this still life, no fruit

in the picture. See? I told
I was invisible, that I was only ever half there.

11:05 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Laurel-

Our bereaved angel. Our shriveled plum. Ah, how even in despair your heart, stained with blood and rust, demands its love from the world.


Good poem.


yrs-

Scott

6:30 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...

Hey, dude.

Yeah, I like it. I quit so there's no smokes in the house.
Ah, well.

Thanks for dropping in....was feeling a bit.....well.


thanks.


Scott

7:59 PM  
Blogger Tasha Klein said...

*the stones - beast of burden*


nice work.

cheers! :)

11:53 PM  

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