Poem Of The Month: November 2014

NOTES FOR A CATALOGUE (1)

In an arid landscape, slender figures

curved as question marks

enact bewilderment at being

found beneath acrylic sky.

Space is what the sun can burn

and time’s the tallying of drawn-out days

on brittle limbs of stunted trees.

Painted figures cannot speak

but they can mime and want

stiff gestures recognized.

So extract a narrative

from each now in front of you

and a dozen thens remembered

or imagined down the gallery.

Ignore the hundred nevers

missing from the catalogue.

From the blind side of survival

sudden gusts come perfumed with suspicions

groves of foliage were left behind

before there was a word for garden.