The tragedy was in my eyes
en route from left to right
the usual routine
tracking, placing surroundings
stopping
The tragedy was in her posture
proud, hopeful
bloomed tall, despite youth’s best attempts
to keep her forever innocent
The tragedy was in three middle-aged men
On a business casual Friday, Tag Heurers gleamed
in the metallic saffron sunset reflection,
offhandedly discussing the weekend’s plans
paused mid-discussion
The tragedy was in a pitch
A horn splat of B-flat, C, F-sharp
Sustained into echoed crescendo
Curled like tendriled vines into my ears
The tragedy was in a new book
crisp unbroken spine
Arched unnaturally above a slender upraised arm
Shredded pages hovered momentarily,
hundreds of small earthquakes
poised to thunder their doom
The tragedy was in our gasps
God
ohgod
Fuck
HEY!
Mama
The tragedy was that
We each breathed our final goodbyes
without having seen a tragedy coming
2 comments:
Please tell me that this was for a creative writing class. It's so painful and touching that I hope this didn't actually happen. P
I'm not enrolled in classes this semester, P, but I do enjoy a liberal tromp through fictional poetry writing now and again.
This is the first draft, which I don't usually hang out there. I prefer to write/rewrite/rewrite about 6 or 8 (or more) times before even thinking about posting the stuff, but I figured oh what the heck this time.
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