torn corners & confetti (vi)

I chose two old photos featuring my mother from the collection on my desk. In one, she’s surrounded by her family of origin: her younger brother and sister, her older sister, her mother and father. She’s about 12.

The other is of her in her early thirties with my younger brother and I sitting on her lap; he’s sandwiched between the two of us and looks uncomfortable. I’m about three; he’s two years younger.

I photographed the old pics with my iPhone, imported them onto my laptop, inserted them into PowerPoint, treated them with a black-and-white effect, printed them on plain white paper, and then tore them carefully apart. The result was eight pieces of “confetti” all of which were corners.

Here’s stanza (vi):

 

 

torn corners & confetti (vi)

a poem in eight parts

by punkie

 

anxious/sage

words/thoughts/ideas

and sounds tumble in

random cascades

from your lips:

meaningful mysteries

for those clever/close enough

to divine their prophecies.

 

torn corners & confetti (i) 

torn corners & confetti (ii) 

torn corners & confetti (iii) 

torn corners & confetti (iv) 

torn corners & confetti (v) 

 

© Susan Macaulay 2015. I invite you to share this link widely, but please do not reprint or reblog or copy and paste my poems into other social media without my permission. Thank you.