Death is chicken soup, ladled
repeatedly coloring the floor, the walls
walking down your leg
zipping down your fly.
It leads you into the room
and asks, What is darkness,
expects you to respond with a question.
It leads you into the room
and pulls out its yearbook, autographs
and wish-you-wells. It points
and laughs out loud at the jokers,
the jocks and nerds. Words, soup
through bones, I'm over them.
Walks away like a leaking faucet.
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- Reading the District
- A first year teacher blogging about first year things like, students, bureaucracy, administration, and the love for teaching reading in Washington, DC.
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2 comments:
It's interesting. I have been thinking about death as well - that always happens around my birthday. Not sure that I understand "chicken soup", but I really enjoyed several lines: "walking down your leg" is well crafted; second stanza is strong overall; walks away like a leaking faucet is great.
One thing you can try is combining the last two stanzas --
Death leads you into the room
and pulls out the yearbook
laughs out loud at the jokers
jocks and nerds, words - soup
through bones, walking away
like a leaking facet.
Maybe cut even further. I dunno. I guess play with trimming. Maybe not.
i've been really into writing sonnets (dunno if you've noticed), so i'm trying to keep it to fourteen lines. i think i like the abruptness of the "I'm over them" but i dunno, what do you think?
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