torn corners & confetti (vii)

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

by punkie

 

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.

 

torn corners & confetti (i) 

torn corners & confetti (ii) 

torn corners & confetti (iii) 

torn corners & confetti (iv) 

torn corners & confetti (v)

torn corners & confetti (vi)

 

 

© 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.