A Poem by LynnChakoian


By borges, Section Philosopher's Corner
Posted on Thu Jun 17, 2010 at 02:32:15 PM CST

The black of their dress,
buggies and horses,
prayer books, Bibles and a cappella hymns
leads those from afar to assume
what isn't necessarily true.
What looks black and white
is tempered by the blue broadcloth
pants buttoned up the side,
held with suspenders
and work-worthy for a season or two.
And children, who on the schoolhouse yard
play games together as if girls and boys
needn't be on one side of the room
or the other.  
And the rhythmic thud of weaving rugs
through the winter season
after the syrup is boiled,
vegetables packed in jars,
and all made straight for the fall doin'.

All the while their Sunday-best flying
horizontal in the wind on wash day.
And the white lace bonnet
setting off a face so pure, in a way.
And how their eyes avert to the ground
or feet when more modern senses they meet.
Distant yet present
through these spheres of difference--never touching,
no mutual remembrance
and neighbors still.

by LynnChakoian

Menu

+create account
+frequent questions (faq)
+search

Login

Make a new account

Username:
Password:

Related Links

+ Also by borges
Display: Sort:
A Poem by LynnChakoian | 0 comments (0 topical, 0 editorial, 0 hidden)
Display: Sort:

create account | faq | search | disclosure