Friday, August 26, 2011

AWAY FROM THE SPRAWL by CLARE WELSH

PLASTIC HORSES

Photo:  Courtesy of Shelby Ursu



Your space is a forest, roots
clutching dirt the way our mom must have clutched


the table cloth when you took her car. I was combing
plastic horses and thinking how, like a horse,


or some gypsy women, your space
never stopped moving. That night you called

from a pay phone in a city
that still had pay phones. I imagined you shivering


in our dad's army jacket. There was rain
of course, an orange streetlight thumping


in your mouth when you told me to get out
after high school, a white hallway


that in 1998 only existed on TV. A leaf unfurled
in my throat, and I knew I wouldn't see you

until the seed you planted shot out
my ears, a winter tree with leaves red

 
as tongues. Our mom hooked
the phone, and I lost you to a field


of plastic horses, cold
but for manes of human hair.




A book in process featuring poems by Clare Welsh and photography by Shelby Ursu.



4 comments:

ΣΤΡΑΤΗΣ ΠΑΡΕΛΗΣ said...

Όμορφη σελίδα!
και προπαντός...λευκή!
Φωτεινή!
Χαιρετώ σας!

Setty Lepida said...

Στρατή τιμή μου !!!

Clare Welsh said...

thank you for liking this enough to repost it!! :D <3 i'm really flattered

Angie said...

Amazing post!!!congrats..:)

xxx

Angie

P.S:chasingkitesbyangie.blogspot.com