Today everything I notice is in contrast.
Orange leaves against the wet, grey street,
bright as parrot feathers.
The fog on my back windshield
dissolving into colourless stripes.
Hydrangeas blue as bruises
lingering next to brick.
The lack of people in the market
and the throngs of cars creeping
along their narrow lanes.
The muffled noises of night
inside other people's apartments--
a squawking television set,
the pulse of the washing machine
next door, an elevator's whir.
And of course, as I bring water
to my face to wash from it
the day's unseen debris,
the knowledge that tomorrow
is poised to sort shadow from glare.
I've been enjoying your poems and the images that go with them. This is one of my favorites, so far. One of the things that I appreciate is that the poems stand alone. As you say, the images are the spark, but not the poem. I'm wondering why you don't title all of them. This one is particularly beautiful and evocative.
ReplyDelete