I wrote a poem
Here it is:
Somehow Brittle
Like an old china cup, stained,
thin from use (though I am far from thin) and chipped
On the edge of a counter, poised.
The slightest of bulls,
those dark eyes, that hot breath
and laughing air fills me, folds
me
down.
The hairline crack caused by the shaking, pale, and delicate
hand of a Countess,
on a cool November night
in 1847
as she watched, with dry and grey eyes
the creation of a deathmask
Sarah’d been only four, pretty blond ringlets
for the fifth of her children and the third to die young
when she set down the cup
hard (too hard)
becomes all of me as I kiss the floor
in a thousand pieces
and think once of you.
On this day..
- Blog Break - 2008
- Subway Haiku #3 - 2005
I love the poem, how did you think of it?
Whenever Harlan Ellison is asked where he get’s his ideas from, he always answers, “Schenectady.”
🙂
Basically, I was feeling emotionally brittle, and on the bus to school followed that feeling with words (writing on my iPhone) and do something more interesting than “i feel brittle” – when the tea cup idea came to me, I got interested in the cup itself, thus the Countess tangent.
But here’s the thing about me as a writer, while I can see the Countess’ eyes and hands quite clearly, I couldn’t describe the appearance of the teacup (though I could imagine the weight and texture and feel of it).
I think that you should send it in to a contest or for publication.