This poem is the result of a free-writing session in a wonderful workshop attended by Dr. Walker, P.T. Paul, and me. We had a wonderful speaker, Priscilla Hancock Cooper, who talked to us about her experience teaching poetry writing to youth in some of Alabama's juvenile detention facilities. If any one has the chance to hear her speak or teach a workshop, I'd definitely recommend taking it. The poem itself doesn't have a title yet, but I welcome any suggestions.
1
Blown glass bubbles, bursts, and burns
orange, amber, white, and blue.
A furnace of heat unshapes it, liquefies
a lava that when melting
drips solid pearls upon the floor,
silicon beads that hiss their way down
through frigid air and ping
across the concrete, rolling, singing,
glistening. Spherical music
drowned out by fire and the heat
of concentration, finds a corner,
slows and stops,
a diamond waiting patiently in the dust
for sweeping or an eye that sees
the brilliance of the accident.
Posted by Meagan M. on June 29, 2008
Tags: Uncategorized
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