Monday, February 4, 2013

Tuesday Poem: another one previously published by Fox Chase Review in 2009

A Black Plastic Bag Is Rising

on the wind, like a raven
riding an updraft,
a wingless bird
without hope
of ever gliding
its way back down.

It billows and swells,
now round as a fist
raised at the heavens,
then thinly, it twists
and changes shape,
becomes a moth unfurling
from the chrysalis.

And this makes me ponder
the dark smudge of the soul
as it leaves the body,
released all at once from gravity.

But this is the opposite of a soul --
a polymer stretched and shaped
for single use, and then turned into refuse,
bearing our fingerprints into the world,
our carrying urge made
manifest, run amok,
an indestructible
piece of flotsam.
They’re everywhere.

I look out my window,
and see a land-locked jellyfish
wending its way through the city,
harpy, black spot, blight,
omen, burning tire, bit of midnight,
flake of ash from a funeral pyre.

One of millions.
And where, oh where will it light?

1 comment:

AJ Ponder said...

I loved this poem - the structure - the theme and the way it rushed to an ending - very ominous.