nichepoetryandprose

poetry and prose about place

cornrows

with 2 comments


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cornrows

~

at the first rustle

of shadow on skin

I wake beside him

~

I slide from the bed

flip the latch, climb through

the window, he will

be angry

the thought delights me

~

I cross to the cornfield

silken rows of ribbon

higher than my head

an army, khaki-clad

could march here

one row over

and we could all

have solitude

~

I shift rows

suddenly

catch a glimpse

of tassels

chevrons

boot heels

click into the next row

ribbons quiver

~

takes nine minutes

to find a cornrow

north to south

leads back to the house

I cross the yard

pause on the threshold

I hesitate

a stranger

~

the cornstalks whisper

~

I raise my fist

hammer on the door

~

~

Published as: ‘cornrows’, Spring 2013, The Antigonish Review 173

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Copyright  2013   Jane Tims

Written by jane tims

November 11, 2013 at 7:28 am

2 Responses

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  1. I loved this poem the first time I heard you read it. Thanks for sharing it again. I appreciate the beauty and rhythm, the images and eerie sense of foreboding in this.

    Like

    Carol Steel

    November 11, 2013 at 8:29 am

    • Hi Carol. Thanks. This poem is an amalgamation of several memories of walking in cornrows. I am going to try and post more of my poetry. Now I am on a getting ready for Christmas jag so I may never regularize! Jane

      Like

      jane tims

      November 11, 2013 at 10:10 am


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