My house runs dark (funded!)
Here's a long one, 36 lines long. Based on a not-actually-fictional quality of the new place!
I wrote it a couple weeks ago when emily_jiang was visiting to say hi to (and feed) clarionites, and she and I had a midnight till *mumble a.m.* gossip and poem-writing fest :)
Also:, funding update: We're holding steady at three previously unpublished tarot sonnets; you guys have 2 weeks to make me write more. If you want me furiously writing and erasing, another $8 donated to Clarion will achieve this -- and it will also get us to a communal donation of $500 (including all the matching). Would that not ROCK?
Onwards!
----
My house runs dark
My house runs dark with spider sisters
world weavers, bold, quick,
anonymous. They dart
from stillness
knowing
I crumple webs
-- fray their body-lace
with cloth unwoven,
candle flame, eyes
shut
to pattern-shimmer traps. They run
to me
knowing
I wipe down corners
windowsills, thoughts
I call my own, and I
am trapped.
They know
I catch my tiny sisters
under glass, under steel,
under cups bright as baby toys. I ward
my sisters in circle-
stories woven
on white paper
I call my own. I am a web.
I toss them out past glass, stone
sticky strands of mine
and I stare
caught
by sun-glint on Maya
patterns body-woven
where they fell
unwalled, I see
lace
and know
my house runs dark.
----
I wrote it a couple weeks ago when emily_jiang was visiting to say hi to (and feed) clarionites, and she and I had a midnight till *mumble a.m.* gossip and poem-writing fest :)
Also:, funding update: We're holding steady at three previously unpublished tarot sonnets; you guys have 2 weeks to make me write more. If you want me furiously writing and erasing, another $8 donated to Clarion will achieve this -- and it will also get us to a communal donation of $500 (including all the matching). Would that not ROCK?
Onwards!
----
My house runs dark
My house runs dark with spider sisters
world weavers, bold, quick,
anonymous. They dart
from stillness
knowing
I crumple webs
-- fray their body-lace
with cloth unwoven,
candle flame, eyes
shut
to pattern-shimmer traps. They run
to me
knowing
I wipe down corners
windowsills, thoughts
I call my own, and I
am trapped.
They know
I catch my tiny sisters
under glass, under steel,
under cups bright as baby toys. I ward
my sisters in circle-
stories woven
on white paper
I call my own. I am a web.
I toss them out past glass, stone
sticky strands of mine
and I stare
caught
by sun-glint on Maya
patterns body-woven
where they fell
unwalled, I see
lace
and know
my house runs dark.
----