Reimagined French Postcards
The new leaves sway outside,
Rhythmic like the bed.
Spring reaches up my spine
Bursting forth through each fingertip.
I could smell those blossoms from a block away.
Our tired tender touches lay dormant as the sun bathes us.
The seeds that were blown from the field of your memory
Are planted in mine.
Deep, strong roots tapering to tips thinner than hair,
more abundant than the softness on your back,
take nourishment and draw it upwards.
Those fertile hills that once fed me
Have become timeless in my mind.
Though still, it quivers.
Flush with life.
Lust for light.
My hand melted to nourish your earth.
How rich is the brown of the stones you hope will once house you?
There will be no limbs on that tree to keep you warm.
No bird in its nest to sing for you.
Yet you regale your tale about the wind that blows you,
Catches your wings,
Spreads you seeds.
I find myself adrift in your midriff,
Seeing eye to belly’s eye.
The deep-seated wisdom lies just beyond,
While an endless appetite tries to consume it.
Comfort in quantity.
Security in stories.
Your bemused smile feigns satisfaction.
May 25th, 2013 at 5:45 pm
Eli,
This was a well-thought out project, taking its inspiration from the Victorian era cards, its challenge to classification and specificity from Foucault, and its evocative poeticism from Whitman and other readings. Like your acting ability, I had not known that you were interested in writing poetry, since your essays have been written in such a clear academic style, so bravo to your range of talents!