Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Poem from the Still Small Voice

Under the Covers
By Nordette N. Adams

Under cover of scars crissrossing the torso,
purple-blue etchings mesh into one nest
stubborn spirits of slurs escaped
from inept exorcisms, hiding
an impostor's beat. This metronome
times the rise of withering supplications.

Alone, she skates figure eights,
the eternal curve. If only
she could swerve off the deepening groove
to sail a new arc high through air,
she could retire her blades, rend the mask,
reveal the straight lip, the damp eye,
the brow wrinkled as a mother's
when children fail and fail again.

She's prayed this pain projecting from her
back, through the shrink of cleansing organs,
means wings budding, that God is
closing windows to open the door wide
for her soft, feathered, coverless journey.

© 2010 Nordette N. Adams
July 18

1 comment:

Jerry Pat Bolton said...

The first stanza is the potent one in my opinion. Hah! Me? Educate the masses, Nordette? Gotta love it.

Back to the poem. Wee humans have the ability of deceiving ourselves one hundred percent, as in the case of the subject of this poem. The figure eight, the eternal curve is similar to the subject of the novel I am writing these days, "Ouroboros." Both designs, the figure eight and the tail-consuming snake, are involved in eternal life, or as you said, "curve."

I really like this introspective and well-written poem.