Crow
Our house, lakeside and lofty and a soft dove-grey; a prime nesting location for the area’s birds. My mother, who loved them, would never allow us to move a nest, not even that of the crow who flew in our window and began to nest on our kitchen table. The kitchen was unusable until the eggs hatched, so we ate every night in the dining room on an enormous mahogany table my mother had salvaged from a downsizing convent: deep dark lustrous wood that whispered hymns and incense.
1 comments:
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Joseph Legaux Jr. on April 30, 2012 at 5:57 AM said...
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The diction here is really interesting in a good way. The reader is caught with a unique MO of articulation. By the writer doing such there is a certain voice established; this style helps to ground the reader in the style and voice of the prose poem.
Some of the descriptions are really very vivid. The description of the kitchen is very clear and tangible. The musicality of the piece also helps: “deep dark lustrous wood” has some really interesting things going on with sound. -
