rising

 

 

 

my arms bend at awkward
angles as I leave this smoldering
fire my skin carries splinters of
wood like wet grass
 

I’ve been quiet for one hundred years
 

I brush soot from my hair phantoms
erased with a blink of an eye
moving into the air sometimes
these ashes rise
 

men have forgotten the smell of smoke

 

 

 

napo2014

quickly's

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9 thoughts on “rising

  1. quickly’s prompt was revision; this was originally written for rwp–

    her arms bend at awkward angles as she leaves
    the smoldering fire
    she has been quiet for one hundred years

    she brushes soot from her hair

    melting is a memory images
    burnt on her retina
    phantoms erased with the blink of an eye

    her skin still carries the touch of scarred wood
    embedded in the dermis like fossilized scales

    men have forgotten the smell of smoke

    she steps into wet grass she raises
    her arms like wings
    she would move into the air sometimes

    the ashes rise but this air is pure

    1. and (as revision would have it) this started as a found poem “erasure” taken from Buried Cities’ by Jennie Hall —

      she would move

      buried in wooded hills under heaps
      she has been quiet for a 100 years

      men have forgotten
      she would move into the sky sometimes
      the ashes rise but this air is pure

    1. my thoughts were a woman, rising from a volcano maybe — from the ashes of her old life.

      the original version of this (written a few years ago, I’ll post it) was in third person.

      1. pele, perhaps — or joan of arc. or — perhaps thomas cramner or janet horne. it all depends on who you think may have started that fire…
        😉

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