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Ekphrasis 3: Peter

March 17, 2007

Red sled

The Window

Panning her eyes over my

small white lawn and life,

my Realtor smudges,

absently feeling for

the encased vinyl lattice,

and fades to Xanadu.

She knows I left no gold

mosaic, no mahogany

breakfast table stretched to

a gaudy passive aggression.

I was never great enough

to be that small, to wish

inside a snow globe. She

knows. She turns from

the window, frames the light

perspiration on my deathbed

upstairs, then cuts to our

finished basement’s furnace

whose tossing flames never

dream of my plastic sled.

by Peter of Slow Reads

Categories: Ekphrasis Tags:
  1. March 18, 2007 at 12:17 pm

    Oh, very interesting point of view – photo and poem.

  2. March 19, 2007 at 7:55 am

    Thanks, leslee. My thanks also to Lori, who made my pedestrian photo much more interesting.

  3. Ivy
    March 20, 2007 at 5:17 am

    I like how the image’s verticality is reflected in the structure of the poem, not to mention the Citizen Kane references! Very apt.

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