holding my cindery, non-existent,radiant flesh. Incandescent.
everything is just gone
43 Matching Annotations
- May 2021
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poets.org poets.org
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in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts
she remembers it as if it was today.
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bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards(I can almost see)
flashbacks
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as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,
she went through alot and all she can think about is like wow as like a flashback
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including the body I had then,including the body I have now
she knows she left her past
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in this house has long been over,kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,including my own body,
everything from the past got left
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I can't see my own arms and legsor know if this is a trap or blessing,finding myself back here, where everything
her odd life was still in her mind which got her overthinking so she keeps finding herself reviewing things over and over
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I can see the flaws in the glass,those flares where the sun hits them.
the flaws reflect on how you view things differently
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the lake is blue, the forest watchful.In the east a bank of cloud rises up silently like dark bread.
everything is so suttle
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The day is bright and songless,
very quite day because a songless is like no songs are playing so its quite
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rippled mirror.
maybe the mirror was melted or something
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every detail clear,
every little detail matters
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Their clothes are still on the hangers, their dishes piled beside the sink,
everything is still the same way how they left it.
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Where have they gone to, brother and sister,mother and father? Off along the shore,
maybe they are gone because of the fire or was it because there was to much fire going on between the family perhaps.
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No one else is around.
no one was there. they were alone.
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The spoon which was melted scrapes against the bowl which was melted also.
everything got destroyed by the fire.
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In the burned house I am eating breakfast.You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,yet here I am.
burning house and the mornings represent a start of the day but still thinking about what happened already. so maybe she is still stuck on the past.
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www.poetryfoundation.org www.poetryfoundation.org
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The shape, The label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt.
what they described it as
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George Herbert,
his a poet
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The docker, the navvy. The planter, the picker, the sorter Sweating at her machine in a litter of cotton As slaves in calico headrags sweated in fields:
there were overwhelmed and overworked
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A third before he dropped her put her arms Around his neck and kissed him. Then he held Her into space, and dropped her. Almost at once
this is like so odd yet seem so loving. so much is going on at once
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The witness in a building across the street Who watched how a young man helped a girl to step Up to the windowsill, then held her out
people were watching a girl getting let out a window
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At the Triangle Factory in nineteen-eleven. One hundred and forty-six died in the flames On the ninth floor, no hydrants, no fire escapes—
people died in 1911 in a burning building
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Of cuff I button at my wrist. The presser, the cutter, The wringer, the mangle. The needle, the union, The treadle, the bobbin. The code.
seems like that they are over worked or stressed.
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Gossiping over tea and noodles on their break Or talking money or politics while one fitted
its talking about the surrounding and how it is.how they act.
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The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams, The nearly invisible stitches along the collar Turned in a sweatshop
its a work shop
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poets.org poets.org
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She burns like a burning bushdriven by a godawful wind.
gave another example of her burning
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She rises like dragonsmoke to my nostrils.
before this sentence there was ways on how she was burning and now they are saying she rises.
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We stand with our handshanging at our sides,while she burns
he isnt doing anything about the girl. he is just there
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she burns like a piece of paper.She burns like foxfire
shes probably delicate
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The cry I bring down from the hillsbelongs to a girl still burninginside my head.
sounds like he is sad over a girl
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www.poetryfoundation.org www.poetryfoundation.org
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Or does it explode?
or does it like scatter into a lot of things
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Maybe it just sags like a heavy load
the part where it says heavy load makes me think about is it to much? or anything like that
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Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
maybe the dream is being forgotten?
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What happens to a dream deferred?
this question makes you think while reading the poem
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poets.org poets.org
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cultivation of strength to heal and enhancein the non-cheering dark,
but then she is asking for help
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what wants to crumble you down, to sickenyou. I call for you
people are not going to like you succeed
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in the vertigo cold.in the hot paralysis.Under the wolves and coyotes of particular silences.Where it is dry.Where it is dry.
this is saying perhaps like anytime , anywhere ?
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I call for you cultivation of strength in the dark.
this is saying they need strength when going through a tough time
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studio.edx.org studio.edx.org
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Itʹs full as Opera
this is like saying it was full as if there was an opera perhaps
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One Claw opon the air ‑
her work is being acknowleged although she is trying
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among my mind,A Glee possesseth me,That had I Ballet Knowledge
that these thoughts are in her mind
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I cannot dance opon my Toes ‑No Man instructed me ‑
when reading this it seems like she wasn't guided to do things because it stated "I cannot dance opon my toes" then it says that no man instructed them. So maybe they didn't depend on someone
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