Hidden.
Wrinkles in the face
of an old portrait.
Whispers on the neighbor's porch.
Stories brought by the wind
Hushed.
Dark Seed
Surrounded by fluffy boll.
Clinging to anonymity.
Truth is a strong jaw.
Truth is a promonent nose.
Truth is a redness in the skin.
Truth
is a cotton seed.
3 comments:
So this is a kind of myth in u family. My Grandma's Grandfather was a Cherokee indian, but a Cherokee in late 1800's Oklahoma wasn't necessarily a good thing.As the generations got older they basically disavowed any knowledge of the Cherokeeness including changing the last name. The original last name was White Cotton. I still don't know how much of this is true, but I figured it'd make a decent poem.
I like the anaphora at the end and the way the cotton seed is so out of place against the description of a Native American. There is some irony here that plays well with the choice of name. And, it comes very naturally without being forced, which is not necessarily an easy thing to do when working with irony.
Super cool...
I must commend your ability of description. Not only are they apt and subtle, but your economy of words in doing so is sublime. Even though these images sometimes do not form complete sentences, they still feel like it. It's very Palahniuk of you!
Also, I'm fascinated by the story you've told in the comments here. I think you should include more of this story into this poem or possibly another. Or, heaven forsake me, turn this story into a prose piece.
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