The Turkey and the Tall Tree
The bench was set by the water
Marble
And dedicated to a man
etched his name,
the year he was born,
and the year he died.
She had been suffering from
a dark narcolepsy
that reflected off the clouds
a lightening bolt energy
like a screw
turn screw and wrench.
Door knocking,
door opening,
the wrench like a knife
caught on her skin
She sat next to the tall tree
and watched the swans
One emerged from
green algiec sludge
balanced on the water
with all her pretty
cygnets and her
male mirror
leading them
like
a carousal
at Coney Island
going round and round
the lake
a sculpted
horse with a turquoise sash
the lights shine in the mirror
the light bulb soft yellow
she called it citrine
but it was more like a feral
Ariel
She wondered if it was the mermaid
or the horse?
Staring at the turkey in the tree
A pine
with a bench underneath it
The call was
a crunchy
crusty shuffle
Above her head
A strange nuanced beating
A thumping
that felt larger
Than a tree bird
Felt larger than robin,
yellow finch or a crow
A strange assemblage
a gold mermaid
to look up to
A different intuition
to look up to
To see a plump turkey
wrestling the branch
of a tall pine tree
Baring steady
An acrobat
with a large plume
A magician
Against the red curtain
Looking into a Magic 8 Ball
Will the rabbit
be pulled out of the hat?
So plump when it jumps to the ground
Does it look over the edge
like a girl who wants to jump?
Assess such consequences
Conditions
To break a limb, laceration
or traumatic brain injury?
Her thrills really are
the feel of a clean kitchen.
I wonder if she will take
a third?
She stood standing
looking at me,
breading the chicken
breast
first the canola oil
then the bread crumbs
her hands were slimy
as she swung them in the air
At her daughter, standing,
grown.
"This is your father's wake.
Don't just stand there
like a Goddamn banana.
Get the pasta salad from the fridge
and put it out! They are waiting!"
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Other stories by Agnes Ezra Arabella
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excuse the typos. This is the first half of the poem!
I'm hooked. Hooked well before I got to "Her thrills really are
the feel of a clean kitchen." Then there was no looking back.
Stunning! A whole piece. What more could there be? But judging by this, probably a lot.
Elemental. Like I imagine code would be.
Compelling. *
I like your approach to sound and image. The images bump together in startling and effective ways - throughout.
"a carousal
at Coney Island
going round and round
the lake
a sculpted
horse with a turquoise sash
the lights shine in the mirror
the light bulb soft yellow
she called it citrine
but it was more like a feral
Ariel"
The real and unreal coexisting in the moment. The movement of the language - very in the vein of Kerouac, Diane di Prima, Audre Lorde.
Enjoyed the read. *
The lack of punctuation works. You don't need it. Leaving it out gives it more emphasis although it isn't there. Smart move. I'd like to read the second half. *
Thanks guys! I have been working on a collection for several months(that's why you haven't heard much from me lately)
and hope to post a few here.
Feels so good to be part of a community!
There's a very fresh quality to the images here and the juxtapositions are potent: Like those swans gliding from the "green algeic sludge."