Dust:
The cloud rolled in.
Not white, not gray, but red.
A mask of layered fabric,
Waiting for the storm.
Not rain, not hail, but dust.
The window dirty, dusty, cracked
Floorboards creaking, so dry.
A second mask and tank,
Not for water, not for fire, but for dirt.
White linens now a deeper hue.
Take a deep breath,
the air bites back.
This reminds me of an eerie painting, maybe from Andrew Wyeth or something. There's such a strong sense of dread and anticipation, yet I notice you focus more on nature and inanimate objects in this poem, rather than people. It's almost like everyone has fled. Such a haunting landscape!
ReplyDelete"the air bites back." Your poem conjures up an image of lone individual standing at the window watching a thunderhead of dust looming on the horizon—a dystopic landscape where nature takes revenge. Fantastic writing, Emma!
ReplyDeleteEmma;
ReplyDeleteThe descriptive words that you used in your piece helped to paint a vivid image of a cloud of
dust swirling about in the room. I especially liked the use of the two lines one of which reads; "Not rain, not hail. but dust" and the other which reads :"Not for water , not for fire , but for Dirt".as a tool to bring the reader back to the theme of the work. great writing !
As both an artist and a seamstress, this spoke to me. So loved the ,"Mask of layered fabric..." It also made me think about how we aim for purity and cleanliness and just cannot win the war against dust.
ReplyDelete