Saturday, March 5, 2011

Only So Far into the Script of the Poem




The letter opens upon a snowfield, a field of snow, solid and deep but melting slowly, turning granular, the small poops of little dogs becoming revealed in the flat edges along the field as the snow melts from around them. The sun is out, and bright, and the view washes out almost to nothing but whiteness under its light.

A boy appears at the far edge of the field, or the farthest visible point within it, and he walks towards the camera, which is nothing more than the woman reading the letter to her in the form of a script. Eventually, the BOY has trudged through the thigh-high snow to a point close enough for his face to be visible. He would be recognizable, if anyone knew who he was.

He looks straight at the camera, straight into her eyes.


                                         Seems that time gives enough space
                                         Gives enough space for a breath
                                         Enough time for consideration
                                         And there isn’t enough sun in it
                                         To keep the warmth in place

The boy looks to his left, as if over the camera’s shoulders, and pauses briefly before dropping to his haunches, partially submerging himself in the snow. He looks up from the snow into the eyes of the camera and begins speaking to her.


                                         Not enough warmth now, you know
                                         For keeping a body solid in place
                                         And not shivering from the white.
                                         I am surrounded by the sky’s milk
                                         And it is colder than my heart.

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