Poetry Friday036

The fear of white

I have found there to be voids, like the
times when the stark white of it is blinding
transfixing all attempts at meaningful expression,
mocking my tongue-tied immobility with blank eyes.

The memory of grade school drills assure me that
figures placed in appropriate order make sense,
so that is where I begin to break the curse,
to place one or two words, tentative sentences into

the void. But my heart longs for the rush of thought
and the cramping of my fingers as they frantically try to
match the pace of mental discourse around
something glimpsed in passing, some transcendent

thought, that should someone happen upon it, they might
feel a catch in their throat or an ache in their gut
and maybe the urge to cry — Do you know what I mean?
Like when you hear a voice singing

notes that

clamp around your lungs, leave you


to breathe.

Lesley-Anne Evans, November 2009