Cardboard Boxes,
Stories trapped within,
I beat carpets clean.
Dust from the boxes
Residues of rides flown,
Each a ghost.
Lost— ancient tribes
Made of stone.
The sea’s ripped heart
The sargasso’s groans
The tribes chant within the boxes.
Should I, Could I let them out?
Drown the box in the sea’s blood?
The stories have no end
The dust settles right back
My hands are tired
The groans are louder.
I know— I must have let them out
Long, long ago.
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3 comments:
the sea is indeed a split-open nerve as you can see the waters behaving like their coloured race...
Is Sargasso ur fav image?
everytime it reminds me of the wide Sargasso sea, it has a wide socio-political depth into it.
collage is generally incoherent. urs one is a story!wonderful.
the socio-political context, if at all, is purely co-incidental :)..... wasn't drawing a deliberate allusion to Jean Rhys
i said...it reminded me! :)
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