cento

 

I had children of my own
 
in the glaring white gap
how fibrous and incidental it seems
 
to open your tiny beak-mouth,
that looks as if it would never open
let silence drill its hole.
 
now I hear the clock snap I swipe an ant
 
I’m drunk.
I stand on the porch in my bathrobe
a hundred times consider what you said
 
I had children of my own
 

 

 

recursion three : borrowed lines from Richard Jones “Rest” | Medbh McGuckian “Painting by Moonlight” | Sarah Gambito “Holiday” | D.H. Lawrence “Baby Tortoise” | Daniel Johnson “Inheritance” | Juan Felipe Herrera “tomorrow I leave to El Paso, Texas” | Keetje Kulpers “Across a Great Wilderness without You” | Nicolas Boileau-Despréaux “The Art of Poetry” | poets.org

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5 thoughts on “cento

    1. thanks, brenda. 🙂

      those words “how fibrous and incidental it seems” have stuck in my brain for years. I don’t even remember the rest of the poem without looking…

  1. This one stands apart. The lines stand alone, demanding individual attention. Even so, they pool together in my mind as I read the final repeated line to form a haunting complete poem. Enjoyed this very much.

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