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.

Luisa A. Igloria
01.26.2011

In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.

Series Navigation← Landscape, with Small Flakes and Far-off BandoneónSpun →

7 Replies to “Sentence”

  1. 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…

  2. 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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