hot lace (hiroshima)

 

huffing linens, hung on the clothesline and struggling – mother's
old nightgown frantic on its pins and stray hair in my mouth.
late august flowers peer around, unsure and cringing
like thumbsuckers, and a dynasty of clouds, moving slow and gaseous,
spread lazy as hammocks. the smell of fresh laundry makes me think of
simpler times, before moving into the city, when the grass was
as tall as the hems of the table-cloths, when they were hung up to dry
and there was a pond and the cattails would beard up in the late
summer and the moon would divide like a cell
in the disturbed water and the shacks and shanties stashed in the laps
and yawning gulleys of the hinterlands would lean,
simple and single-roomed,
like Pi signs.
 
 
there is so much light and noise now.
the buildings summarized and condensed and the rickshaws scuttling
about like teased insects and the people staring out into the streets
from their tiny second-story windows, like sproutlings
peeking from the steamed interior of a greenhouse.
and when night comes the lights pop on, their electric
fretting, bodiless as anglerfish in the fog, but
fragile in the stasis of a shadow – it seems
that they might be swallowed at any moment, pinched out,
devastated.
 
 
skipping and dry-winged, the locusts clip by, down the street
as i hang the laundry – they seem to be escaping, fleeing,
and the birds are silent, like wind-up toys
unwound. the only sound is mother's lace table-cloth
snapping, turning, filling out
in the afternoon light. i
stand on tip-toe
pinning the sheets down
like moth specimens
on cork.
 
 
the planes are buzzing to the west, important and pregnant.
i smile and think that the war will be over soon
and there will be no more
planes to the west and then
it is very warm and bright
and I can feel the lace
hot as a brand against
my cheeks.

Hey Ky!

I don't have a lot of complaints about this poem. I liked it, a lot. To me it was terrifyingly beautiful. When you think of war, you think of homeless people, dead soldiers, bombs, smoke, and death. But the way you wrote this, the way every word was pieced together made everything seem so beautiful.

Sorry if this was of no help, but I really liked this poem.

Keep writing,

~ Angel

Hi there!

So I had this review all typed out, but when I hit submit, my internet decided to commit suicide and I lost it all. *huff*

I agree with Angel:

When you think of war, you think of homeless people, dead soldiers, bombs, smoke, and death. But the way you wrote this, the way every word was pieced together made everything seem so beautiful.

Especially now, so close after Remembrance day, when it's all still fresh from teachers or parents drilling all the morbidity into our minds.

simple and single-roomed, like Pi signs.

The math reference didn't really fit in with your beautiful comparisions. It just seems...out of place.

You chose to end your poem at an appriopriate spot, but it just feels like your stanza is too rush. It's like "Oh, I'm happy that the war is going to be over soon -- but now I'm hot and dead." I think you should try breaking it up with one little period.

the planes are buzzing to the west, important and pregnant.
i smile and think that the war will be over soon
and there will be no more
planes to the west[.] and then
it is very warm and bright
and I can feel the lace
hot as a brand against
my cheeks.

Just a suggestion.

Other wise, it was great, like always!

- Sam

Kylaaaan,

I would have reviewed this much sooner if I only could find something to say on it. I feel like most of my commentary on your poetry, espcially as of late is praise, and only praise, and while some people don't think that's bad, I'm terribly unoriginal in it that I can't make it mirror what your poetry really makes me feel.

But, this is excellence, Kylan. The fluency of your words, the easy rise and fall of heavy metaphor besides gentle one. I don't like the math reference in the first stanza; it detracts from the natural ease that this poem brought itself on with. Your capture of nature in words is so, so, so pretty, and it amazes me often that you haven't seen for yourself some of the places you place in your poetry.

This is so delicately beautiful. You have captured a joy, a reflection of inner peace to soon come on the last stanza when you mention wars end. It's not mentioned at the beginning, nor is it emphasized, and in this, you have done a beautiful thing by showing us that the lesser thing is more valued here.

I really appreciate this poem. It has its roughened edges, but time and revision can smooth those out.

A most enjoyable poem by you; Keep writing, and keep posting.

Best of luck,
June