Oulipost #30 – Patchwork Quilt

Conclude this project by writing a poem that incorporates words and lines from all of your past 29 poems.

Her Grasp

Hope rises in the competing narrative.
I imagined, with a vision of nightfall,
a rarity of generalities. I could feel it
in my chest, that she was sleeping
through sunlight, golden, remembered.

Eyes closed, she is iconic,
while we are distracted
by the afterthoughts, wreaking
mayhem in our isolation.

As sore as reasons come,
we tailspin, lipstick to the wound,
and I scorn this swooning. She
experienced something. The devil
is in the details, and the urge
for reinventing life obnoxiously rides
this end.

She was dreaming without fear,
silent and dying with grace,
her grasp slipping from my hand.

Source: A totality of writing days in April, in league with the Indianapolis Star


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Lewis Oakwood
    May 01, 2014 @ 06:04:14

    “through sunlight, golden, remembered”

    “her grasp slipping from my hand”



  2. Trackback: Oulipost Exit Interview-Oulipost Ends Where the Work Begins | Mary Sexson

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