God's Quarter Acre (Orange Walk--Belize)
The gray tin roof slat board cottage white
squats under a metal sky, blued by mostly clouds.
It could be anywhere,
anytime like the low single leafy green tree in sight
behind the house, obscured today, by twelve shrouds
tickling the pigweed patches below, no care
that silent breezes have stirred this haunting
so nondescript, all nondescript, ever the nondescript
body and soul and whatever ripped
from these bellowing shells, resisting the daunting
east-west wisps away over the yellowing line strung
where clipped these twelve tickle, giggle, dance to some song sung
--secrets in shadows only old women know
--answers to this life’s questions only angelic moments show
the subtle drab
stifles the potential building din of gossip blab,
limp finger-pointing and rumors the black, the white, the wine one flow
that the brave young gingham dress died hushed, heartless, a day ago.
posted by shakes at 8:47 AM
2 Comments:
I liked this image--saw great possiblities in narrative in it--
which you have found and created,
economically.
Well done. Especially:
body and soul and whatever ripped
from these bellowing shells, resisting the daunting
east-west wisps away over the yellowing line strung
where clipped these twelve tickle, giggle, dance to some song sung
Much Whitman in the poems of late, eh?
I agree with mary grace--the last stanza is especially good. The "earthy" nature of the photograph is translated in the poem in a subtle way. I like it.
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