***this persona poem was borne of a line from my last week's snapshot
Audrey
FIRST AVENUE IS WRAPPED IN SHINE
its macadam rainglazed. I slosh
inside, heft my package high
onto the counter. In the box,
an ornate frame marks
the only boundaries for a single red
bloom on canvas, my oil rendition
of what I had captured on film.
The hibiscus blazes a hot Cadmium
Red, with streaks of yellow,
foliage a lush Sap tinted
with varying degrees of white.
White.
Tabula rasa.
Can I erase and leave
only what was once so simple?
A baby embraced, wrapped
in shine. John Locke, didn't
you hypothesize, "Let us then
suppose the mind to be...
white
paper void
of all characters"?
The characters of your name
were neatly scribed on the butcher
paper skin of the package.
It's not too late to rip away that name,
the one that once was mine
leaving it void of all characters,
of your character.
The words on the card inside,
were they tinged with the pigment
of the bloody tears you force
from me each time we speak?
"Priority mail please," and I surrender
my burden to a postal clerk, realizing
the finality of what I had done.
|