A dress
My poetry is bare, showing its pink and purplish imperfections and its injuries. I buy it a dress to hide its bruises, to ornate it a little, to make it smile. On its rather ugly and mishaped body, the dress looks comical, ridiculous, clumsy, like a bird with a broken wing. I ponder... look for words, for images, think of lace, of tulle, silk and satin... Yes, a couple of changes would help. A red belt might also be pretty, or small yellow round buttons - a delicate and laborious task. Ready now for a last glance, a last fitting. I look at the retouched picture and turn on the lamp to add some reflections. A tear manages to slide towards the light: the memory of a certain dress... I strip my poetry, let it be bare again, and place it in a sunray.
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Other stories by Erika Byrne-Ludwig
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Love the analogy. My "poetry" could use some dressing up, too. They're never satisfied, are they!
"turn on the lamp to add some reflections"
xx
To conclude: Leave poetry naked!
"A tear manages to slide towards the light: the memory of a certain dress... I strip my poetry, let it be bare again, and place it in a sunray."
Wonderful work, Erika.
I love this. 'place it in a sunray.'*
"I buy it a dress to hide its bruises, to ornate it a little, to make it smile."
This is suchf a wonderful thing to write, all of it, really *
Great comments, everyone! Many thanks.
Sweet... not in the way one might think, but in the vein of understatement.
*****
Excellent comment, James. Many thanks.
A reflection of one's craft. expressed wistfully via an extended metaphor.
Thank you, Eamon, for your comment.
Wow. The memory of a certain dress *
Yes, that memory ... Thank you Beate.
It’s wonderful, Erika. Well done. *
Many thanks, Gary.
Well done. Strong metaphor in this piece. *
Many thanks, John.