by Mark Jackley
Night comes and I stare
at the spruce in my front yard.
It teeters in the breeze
like a shy dancer
holding the hem of her dress,
on the verge of leaping,
any second now,
towards dark applause.
if compression is the first grace of style
by Mark Jackley
Night comes and I stare
at the spruce in my front yard.
It teeters in the breeze
like a shy dancer
holding the hem of her dress,
on the verge of leaping,
any second now,
towards dark applause.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
I love the spruce image; it’s proven to be quite memorable, as I see your shy dancer in my neighborhood, too. I imagine the dark applause as the windy sounds in the night, but there is a sinister undertone. I wonder about your title — is it about you staring, really, or about something else?
Hi Darla,
Yes, you’re right about the dark undertone. The working title was “Shit Job,” so maybe that sheds some light. I guess the poem is about darkness and release, in whatever form you might seek it.
Thank you for your poem, Night comes