Make Me

out of something more
than tired skin and silence,

into something less
than list, and twisted brow.

Origami me a swan
-song smile, a last parchment
mile to tattoo against my wrist.

Christen me
whisper nothing less
into this disappearing.

You can’t.
Or can you?

Fashion me
an ink-dipped sky;
this place,
a fallen star.

(I know you are,
but what am I?)


Prompted by Poetic Asides



This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Make Me

  1. Victoria says:

    So pensive. That one stanza: Christen me, made me think of the American Indian custom of having the medicine woman name the child according to their nature. This is like a spiritual coffee break for me.

  2. kanzensakura says:

    This is resplendent. And shows how far superior is your talent and depth to magnetic poetry. That may be fun but it does not have the beauty and soul of your own words and structure. I think of how the ancient Jews would bind the words of God to their foreheads and write them on their hands. I want a mile of these words. Outstanding.

  3. ihatepoetry says:

    I love the fluid, flowing wordplay here. There is real vulnerability in these suggestions. I loved the suggestive title too. (Wasn’t meant that way? Sorry. I just posted a poem about sex, and it must still be on my mind. :/ )

Use your words.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.