“People disappear when they die. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.” ~ Diane Setterfield
this poem is fashioned from immortal ink(ed) flesh
carved deep into the white screen of space time
it can never die nor disappear from this cyber-womb
birthed to exist fully preserved and free from annihilation
frozen in pure mothered breath-steeped dreadful magic
whisper it to the wind…this voice is a miracle of timelessness
Magaly prompts us this morning in The Garden…she offers this:
“I began this prompt with a quote from The Thirteenth Tale because on the 13th day of our 30/30 in April, I wish to celebrate the number 13 and metaphor (as a poetic device).
– choose 3 to 13 (nonconsecutive) words out of Setterfield’s quote
– use them in a poem that is a deliberate celebration of metaphor
I went for 13 😉 As with the whole month of NaPoWriMo I’m hanging with the toads.