It’s been said
writing is the tension
between black and white
on the page. An intention disturbing the void.
I have nothing more than a head
swiveling which makes me certain
about sculpture. Unsure about everything else.
Survivors recall the original nosedive. When we
turned people into animals and then said that’s
what you are. Then they survived.
And we couldn’t stop crying.
The space between our legs and arms
muscles our memories. The stories
we won’t remember.
Our trust of nothing
pounds pancakes
into paperweights.
-Kim Irwin
© 2005 K. Irwin All Rights Reserved
1 comment:
Kim,
I love this piece. I do not necessarily grasp all the imagesbut that's good---a measure of abstraction that makes rereading interesting. Please post some more.
DM
Post a Comment