Enchanting, this little lady.
Delivering prose to her supposed audience;
unknown, perhaps unimportant, to my ears.
One by one she lifts the words from
their static existence on the page –
injects them with life,
meaning, interpretation.
She is unafraid of nearby ears,
Unashamed to indulge in imagination.
This has been constructed, ready for her,
To create.
The child is purposeful and animated,
unharmed by ego.
But what of her harm?
Tension sweeps over and above her,
(below her when she sleeps
safe and unsound in her bed);
slices right through her.
Unsettled, she is not unwanted
but able to become unimportant,
An entertainer for her own comfort.
For now the child reads.
Removes and establishes herself
all at once.
Comments
anipani | November 13, 2007 - 11:28
this is fascinating, why is she 'unsound' in her bed. it is an unsettling, but compelling read. i thought the last line was excellent.
careyssej | November 13, 2007 - 16:16
Thank you for your comment, i'm brand new to this website and it's so exciting to have your stuff read.
the poem is part real, part speculation but the child is surrounded by adults who argue loudly and viscously and a lot. hence being unsound and unsettled.
(oops, sounds horridly depressing, sorry).
I had a read of some of your poems, i really enjoyed the sound of music, i love the way it flows kind of like the music it might be describing.