2008 Woodie Awards
Marred
Laura McCoy
Issue date: 11/29/07 Section: Visions and Voices
- Page 1 of 1
The unrelenting violin of the wind in oaks,
And then the silent flap of herons,
Each feather outlined by grey-sky pencil.
I feel the wrinkles forming down my forehead.
I lie in the cooling grass until
Everything turns deep green and blue.
The wind slips a strand of hair across my face,
But when I notice, I crawl back in my skin.
You see, each leaf with its veins and webbing
Combines to itself and others a quilt
To blanket this odd murky beauty.
Perhaps the herons come here for company,
Stalking delicately through the grass,
Patting each other's feathers measuredly.
When I nestle against grooved bark,
The scene overwhelms and I shut my eyes
In the age of grains of sand and time;
A hook reaches in and pulls me out
And drops me on the inside of my window.
Even now trancelike, I see how I fit - or don't,
With and without windows, or mirrors, or glazed eyes.
But someone must whittle the violins.
And then the silent flap of herons,
Each feather outlined by grey-sky pencil.
I feel the wrinkles forming down my forehead.
I lie in the cooling grass until
Everything turns deep green and blue.
The wind slips a strand of hair across my face,
But when I notice, I crawl back in my skin.
You see, each leaf with its veins and webbing
Combines to itself and others a quilt
To blanket this odd murky beauty.
Perhaps the herons come here for company,
Stalking delicately through the grass,
Patting each other's feathers measuredly.
When I nestle against grooved bark,
The scene overwhelms and I shut my eyes
In the age of grains of sand and time;
A hook reaches in and pulls me out
And drops me on the inside of my window.
Even now trancelike, I see how I fit - or don't,
With and without windows, or mirrors, or glazed eyes.
But someone must whittle the violins.
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