- April 2004
- May 2004
- June 2004
- July 2004
- October 2004
- November 2004
- January 2005
- February 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- September 2005
- January 2006
- May 2006
- July 2006
- December 2006
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- August 2008
- March 2009
- July 2009
- November 2009
- July 2010
- September 2010
- October 2010
- February 2011
- April 2011
- May 2011
- November 2011
- December 2011
- January 2012
- February 2012
- April 2012
- May 2012
- July 2012
- December 2012
archives
blogs i dig
archives
blogs i dig
"i don't think this next poem needs any introduction-- it's best to let the words speak for themselves"- Billy Collins, in his poem, "The Introduction."
10.11.2010
fell
I fell
through
the barn,
filled with abandoned things,
piles of lives
that have long since left,
carried themselves elsewhere
that we dug through,
with dirty hands,
looking for something.
I fell
because there was
light coming in through the dusty window,
and I fell
because 2 chairs framed the light
as if 2 lovely people
had just been
sipping tea,
fondly,
as if,
in the stacks of abandoned shadows,
they had found their home.
Staring through my camera,
at the imaginary scene,
I put my foot out into the open air,
and I fell
and falling was like flying and I didn’t know if it would ever end.
Later that summer,
I kissed you in the barn.
We sat on the orange hill
and I cried,
and you said I was safe there,
that you would paint my body on the roof.
Later that summer
night trapped us,
sleepless,
in your bed,
in the woods,
in a blue tarp
in deer stars,
held by a thin wooden frame,
just bent saplings.
And later that summer,
your dirty hands
dug through me
looking for something.
And later,
I knew. suddenly. that I had been broken there.
But then, I was just falling,
like a dream,
like a whistle.
And there was nothing in the world but air.