Sentence

This entry is part 43 of 95 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2010-11

 

My own, I am I know my hardest
and my most exacting prisoner,
most watchful sentinel braced

against the threshold— And so
in wakefulness sometimes I much prefer
the randomness of sound unpinned

from any explanation— the beeper
of a quarry truck trilling distant
like a digital alarm, the vowels

spelled by dueling chickadees
in the air. Even the ragged fringe
along a line of trees reverses

the abrupt shear where ridge
meets rain-filled sky into
a kind of noise.

Luisa A. Igloria
01.26.2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

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7 Replies to “Sentence”

  1. Whoa, whoa, whoa, this poem is just too good! Thank you, Luisa. That reversal of the shear is going to be turning my head inside out all day.

  2. Peter, Dave, Dale – thank you all. As I have said this past month and more – I am as much a beneficiary of these collaborations. And I didn’t mean to sound cavalier when I used the word “exercise” in some previous post a while back — the challenges that meet me here (though mostly self-defined or self-imposed) are tough- and if I can come away with lines that might have even the smidgen of potential grace, I’m crazy happy…

  3. I have another smallish tweak for the poem, Dave.
    Here’s the revision. Thanks, Luisa

    * * *

    Sentence

    My own, I am I know my hardest
    and my most exacting prisoner,
    most watchful sentinel braced

    against the threshold— And so
    in wakefulness sometimes I much prefer
    the randomness of sound unpinned

    from any explanation— the beeper
    of a quarry truck trilling distant
    like a digital alarm, the vowels

    spelled by dueling chickadees
    in the air. Even the ragged fringe
    along a line of trees reverses

    the abrupt shear where ridge
    meets rain-filled sky into
    a kind of noise.

    (revised 01 27 2011)
    Luisa A. Igloria

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