Sound or Something More
If I had learned how to paint
the big sad, I never would have
pretended to be in love.
the words out loud, by way of practice–
to portraits in hallways, all blue
or all yellow; to the cranes when
they went passing, hourly,
over the cul-de-sac in both directions;
to the windshield, the way it looked
along the Turnpike, covered in little flying bodies
more than glass;
to anything still brave enough to go
floral, the sofa in the unused
room; to books – to the smell
of books, to the smudgy mark
of fingers pushed into their creases;
to no one in particular or the addresses
of no one in particular;
to the ribbons in my hair. There was
some color I never could catch, some
combination. The canvas went away
and then I touched it.
We put walls inside of our walls.
Kat Dixon is author of the poem-book TEMPORARY YES (Artistically Declined Press 2012) as well as a handful of chapbooks. She is one-third of a clean, sweet-smelling house. You can find her online (maybe) at www.isthiskatdixon.com.
Return to January 2012 Edition