Evidence

This entry is part 93 of 93 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2011

What splintered the limb
from the tree, rent
the watercolor-tinted
blooms from their base?

The bird that perches there now
will not say, though its call makes
a bright edge of noise: little rip
of paper sailing through the leaves.

Luisa A. Igloria
06 20 2011

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Epistle of the Leaves

About Luisa A. Igloria

Poet Luisa A. Igloria (website) is the author of Juan Luna’s Revolver (2009 Ernest Sandeen Prize, University of Notre Dame Press), Trill & Mordent (WordTech Editions, 2005) and 8 other books. When she isn’t writing, reading, or teaching, she cooks with her family, hand-binds books, listens to tango music, and keeps her radar tuned for cool lizard sightings.
This entry was posted in Guest writers, Poems & poem-like things and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Evidence

  1. Paul Digby says:

    Perfect.

  2. “For nothing can be sole or whole / That has not been rent.”

  3. Cathie Abell Nelson says:

    Turn the page. This poem is lovely.

  4. Dale Favier says:

    :-) What they said.

  5. lucychili says:

    yes. for some reason it makes me think of a magnolia =)