In the house alone
The night is a barking dog
The moon a peephole
On the flat floor board of sky—
It’s time to tend the ghosts
“Hello” ghosts I say
Are you memory or stain?
I ask with hesitation
They ignore me as usual
And converse over dinner
Grey tongued and pleased
They eat the jam and sausage
Cracking the plaster
They are moths with peppered wings
And secretly I love them
Among the loose change
And the hinges that once held doors
I plot an escape
Bury them into the ground
And build a house over them
The house is empty,
Rafters eaten by insects
The curtains are shadow
And the chimney stands alone
In the hollow of the room
The kitchen table
The broken plates, the puzzle
Pieces, The desert
Of the living, and you, a
Four-cornered miracle.
4 comments:
Thanks again for joining in, Brandi! Wow! I'm completely drawn to this poem. In my interpretation, it resides deep within one's psyche: the kitchen table being that which feeds us, where we craft and mold our sustenance. I get a sense that the speaker is conflicted: embracing the ghosts of the past, but also regretting them: speaking to them, and escaping from them.
I also love the description of the moon. Paraphrased, I remember Irena saying that the moon has been written about a thousand times, so the difficulty resides in balancing a unique and creative means to describe it while still working and resonating as truth. I can see it, "The moon a peephole / On the flat floor board of sky--." Awesome stuff, Brandi!
I love the imagery and the descriptive language--especially the description of the ghosts eating. Also, I love the metaphor of the ghosts and how it is thematically carried throughout the poem.
I also like the matter-of-fact salutations to the ghost, "'Hello' ghosts I say." Brilliant!
Hey, I really miss people who can talk about poetry! Not to say that junior college student can't, but, well, I think you know what I mean. Thanks for the awesome comments.
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