Bar Tales Chapter 11: Rooster Feathers
Posted 9/27/2009 by smartblackboy in Labels: bar tales, conduit gallery, jill foley, my mountain, poetry, smartblackboyYour hands weave and unweave, glue and tape;
there is so much honesty in your joints of cardboard,
hours of hot glue and late nights; I watched you
construct a shelter made of cardboard boxes,
rising slowly inside the gallery, as if you had collected
the empty dreams of homeless men,
then made a secret pact with God
to breathe into your soul the ability to create mountains-
to reanimate these broken things
into a brand new world populate by objects,
by beautiful dolls created from fabric
by a bearskin and a rug, by the spirits
of your childhood, by cruelty reformed,
your hand constantly making and unmaking this world,
continuing the good works of imagination
until pebble by pebble, stitch by stitch
you created a heartland that you could finally
call your own.
And even in the middle of this grandeur;
I still only want to look into your eyes -
watch your face like rooster feathers
that might tell the future.
I can't believe that all there is to know
about you can be found inside these objects,
or that your true soul is the shape of a seashell
mysteriously formed in the belly of the ocean.
I need to know your every thought.
I want to brush against you the way
a tongue touches teeth.
What was that moment, when
in the wilderness of your creation -
our eyes reflected wonder,
like two wild animals - long separated,
finally learning how to speak.
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