I thought myself clever to have come up with eight torn corners that resembled giant pieces of confetti – particularly as I’d composed the poem’s title long before the idea for the images jumped into my consciousness via Six Feet Under. Perhaps I am clever. Or maybe the creativity godesses guided the process. Maybe both or neither.
I scrunched the eight pieces into little balls like one might crumple scrap paper before tossing it in the garbage, and then unfolded them leaving the creases and texture from the crushing mostly intact. I photographed them separately, and paired them without logic–or at least none of which I’m aware–with the word blocks.
While the individual images have nothing to do with the content of the stanzas with which they are partnered, as reassembled puzzle pieces they have everything to do with the poem in its entirety. I like the paradox of that.
Here’s stanza (vii):
torn corners & confetti (vii)
a poem in eight parts
when sol is
swallowed by night
s/he appears to disappear
but like you
plays hide and seek
from the other side
and mirrors her/self on luna
as proof of life.
© 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.
3 thoughts on “torn corners & confetti (vii)”
Clever or guided, the poetry is powerful!
I’ve been off grid, but am back and catching up on my reading. Love the poem!
Welcome back and thanks Heidi ❤