Holding
(words from first and last lines, Elizabeth Cantwell, Nights I Let the Tiger Get You)
Rain on the roof, strange applause.
He leans at the door, burning to
decode the world of water, the scales
of its voice ever changing — snaking
storms, the turbulence of wind,
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lightning, and after, the sound it can
trigger. It all moves, a dark river,
that tiger in the skull with its hunger,
its anticipation. He watches, on fire
for a parting curtain, a wide
clean window to a deeper
wilder knowing.
This poem is part of a series, a prolonged challenge I set for myself. Vocabulary for each poem was taken from first and last lines of a poetry collection on my shelf. (The source appears beneath the poem’s title.) As I composed these, I allowed a couple diversions from the set vocabulary. I changed a verb tense or form of a word as needed. And on a few occasions, a word was added to complete a thought. I think of these as collage poems.
