LITTLE GALLERY
Sculptor Of Radiance
Poem by Rochelle Potkar
Light over sea, beach light, window light, moonlight,
jaguar-eyed moments,
cloud-bitten biscuit suns,
large white bed sheets…
What all can I remember
as it slips over the frames of my window-mind?
You see me in color.
I see you in light.
In varying sheerness the ones that shone
from your half-moon eyes,
boat smiles, as you took me
afloat on carnage dreams.
Your wet clay lips
in the potter's wheel of mine.
Your chest making ocean currents,
your manhood eking vinegar.
How did we shape these days
into bottle mangoes, tailorbird nests,
rims of interwoven husk, grains for the future?
You write on me
and are overwritten in turn a thousand times.
If it weren't for this…
time wouldn't be seen.
Light defines darkness.
I swirl like a sugar cube
bit by bit,
afloat on this height.
On a laser pinpoint far below
is our favorite sleepless street
of kebab meat.
Rodents, cats, crab emerge,
instilling time
in the amoeba shapes of their walks.
Black night, black white, black time
moments stop and stare at us.
How can we forget anything
when memory keeps a chronicle of us?
jaguar-eyed moments,
cloud-bitten biscuit suns,
large white bed sheets…
What all can I remember
as it slips over the frames of my window-mind?
You see me in color.
I see you in light.
In varying sheerness the ones that shone
from your half-moon eyes,
boat smiles, as you took me
afloat on carnage dreams.
Your wet clay lips
in the potter's wheel of mine.
Your chest making ocean currents,
your manhood eking vinegar.
How did we shape these days
into bottle mangoes, tailorbird nests,
rims of interwoven husk, grains for the future?
You write on me
and are overwritten in turn a thousand times.
If it weren't for this…
time wouldn't be seen.
Light defines darkness.
I swirl like a sugar cube
bit by bit,
afloat on this height.
On a laser pinpoint far below
is our favorite sleepless street
of kebab meat.
Rodents, cats, crab emerge,
instilling time
in the amoeba shapes of their walks.
Black night, black white, black time
moments stop and stare at us.
How can we forget anything
when memory keeps a chronicle of us?
By
COPYRIGHT TO
ROCHELLE POTAKAR
Her book, 'The Arithmetic of breasts and other stories' was shortlisted for The Digital Book of the Year Award 2014, by Publishing Next. She is working on a novel and two collections of short stories. Her book of poetry ‘Four degrees of separation’ is due soon by Poetrywala. She was a writer-in-residence at The University of Iowa’s International Writing Program, Fall Residency 2015.
Her book, 'The Arithmetic of breasts and other stories' was shortlisted for The Digital Book of the Year Award 2014, by Publishing Next. She is working on a novel and two collections of short stories. Her book of poetry ‘Four degrees of separation’ is due soon by Poetrywala. She was a writer-in-residence at The University of Iowa’s International Writing Program, Fall Residency 2015.
