Experimental Writing

Description:

“Sunrise” is a photograph of a landscape, taken from an elevated view just as the sun is beginning to rise. The central foreground is composed mainly of abandoned, run down buildings, set off from the road by bare, beige, dirt lawns. Larger buildings that appear to be either office spaces or apartment complexes are visible in the distance. The sky takes up a large majority of the picture; it is deep grey in color and dulls the pointed edges of the distant buildings with a coat of fog. The bright sun peeks out from below the clouds, lighting up patches of the sky and shining over the bare, destitute neighborhood. Garbage is strewn across the dirt, a run down looking white truck sits motionless on the right-hand side, and the buildings look dilapidated and lifeless.

 

 

 

Poems:

 

His Chair

That was his favorite spot. Right there. On the

ebony armchair by the second floor window sill.

He would sit there for hours. Yes, right there.

Paper in hand, as he glanced out the window sill.

From that little corner, things seemed a bit brighter.

You couldn’t smell the wet asphalt.

You could forget the cracked floorboards.

From that little corner the air felt a bit lighter.

The glass hid the stenchof cigarettes and concrete.

You could stare out, and pretend you had someone to stay up for.

From that little corner,

The moaning seemed to fade into the wind.

To plunge deep into the hollow ground, to break

the unforgiving soil, and to sink.

The crack of his bones could just be Lynette trodding downthe porch stairs

Each step gasping for air as she plunged downward,

each breathe slightly fainter than the last.

The falling tiles could be glittering specs of snow,

Lit by the sun and shedding their charcoal soot sweaters.

His tears were just raindrops on the second floor window sill,

And he would sit there for hours. Right there.

Until he couldn’t hear the screams.

Until he was numb to the pain.

Until he could look out,

and pretend tomorrow would be better.

 

 

 

Sunset

 

She is sort of like a pancake, her round face

Coated in muddy syrup. Her tattered tee caked in chocolate crud.

Her nail beds are filled with ash and her stockings now soggy lace

As she crawls across the dirt floor, trailing her dolls along with a steady thud.

I’ve taught her that the glass shards are not diamonds for her teddy bears,

And to keep the Heineken bottle caps out of her mouth

She knows now that soiled condoms are not veils for Barbie to wear

And to leave the cigarette filters where they are, littering the rotten ground.

When she asks where our street leads to, I lie.

Hold my tongue between my teeth, nod, and say Nevada, where it’s warm.

The truth is it loops back around, first to the city dump, then back to the house where she was born.

Today my pancake plays, drenched in mud, soaking wet.

The morning shines brightly, but it’s still not warm,

The sun does not rise, but loops around.

It seems to always set.

 

 

Commentary:

I wrote both of these poems in response to Tim Portlock’s photograph “Sunrise,” appearing in the “Ruffneck Constructivists” Exhibit at the ICA. I tried to consider the personal stories of the people who might live in the buildings featured in the photograph. I considered these people in relation to the physical space depicted, and strived to portray how their surroundings affected them. I also wanted to present the people and their stories as a part of the space itself, embedded in the dilapidated buildings and dirt in the photo. The first poem is about a man I imagine might have lived in one of these now abandoned buildings, and how his own misery becomes embodied in the house itself, with both his bones and the floorboards cracking and moaning for something better. In the second poem, I describe a mother’s thoughts as she watches her child play on the dirt in this lifeless, tired town.