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From the Fort

Sunday, September 23, 2012. A long time coming. You were always older than any of us expected,. Sallow since the first photograph;. Hair glowing translucent through the dimness and the dark,. Red curtains showing through the back of you. While a sunset tries to flood the gaps between your bones. I heard your voice today. Growing into the room and rusting as it reached us. You would have loved to know, we said,. Just how much we’ve all grown. Since those old bones were flooded. And would have loved to know.

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From the Fort | theshypoet.blogspot.com Reviews

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Sunday, September 23, 2012. A long time coming. You were always older than any of us expected,. Sallow since the first photograph;. Hair glowing translucent through the dimness and the dark,. Red curtains showing through the back of you. While a sunset tries to flood the gaps between your bones. I heard your voice today. Growing into the room and rusting as it reached us. You would have loved to know, we said,. Just how much we’ve all grown. Since those old bones were flooded. And would have loved to know.

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2 sidney speaking

3 magnolia

4 mood

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6 the shy poet

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From the Fort | theshypoet.blogspot.com Reviews

https://theshypoet.blogspot.com

Sunday, September 23, 2012. A long time coming. You were always older than any of us expected,. Sallow since the first photograph;. Hair glowing translucent through the dimness and the dark,. Red curtains showing through the back of you. While a sunset tries to flood the gaps between your bones. I heard your voice today. Growing into the room and rusting as it reached us. You would have loved to know, we said,. Just how much we’ve all grown. Since those old bones were flooded. And would have loved to know.

INTERNAL PAGES

theshypoet.blogspot.com

1

From the Fort: One and the other eleven

http://www.theshypoet.blogspot.com/2012/03/one-and-other-eleven.html

Tuesday, March 6, 2012. One and the other eleven. Bare foot round the back of a house. Walls too tight for twelve. You were photographed behind your brother’s shoulders. Held and mothered by your sister. Tales took shape there. Of breaking bottles against concrete. Making green glass shake into dust like sugar –. Tales of little boys. Vaulting high fences, propelled by the spring of fear. From angry dogs salivating. The barking seemed enormous to you then,. These tales were ticklish to me when –. Let me ...

2

From the Fort: Oldies replenished and restored.

http://www.theshypoet.blogspot.com/2012/04/oldies-replenished-and-restored.html

Thursday, April 19, 2012. Oldies replenished and restored. With the final chime of the grandfather clock. Choice words, warm as mittens,. Witter from between white teeth –. Flighty moths escaping into the dark. Carrying your life’s dust on their wings. Straight as they go towards the sticky glow. Of a bulb that nestles in my ribcage. Swelling and shrinking comfortably –. A sponge for light particles. Glittering stalagmite from the base of my belly. Means we’ll never go hungry again. I tried calm,. You&#8...

3

From the Fort: Thinking Smaller

http://www.theshypoet.blogspot.com/2012/01/thinking-smaller.html

Tuesday, January 3, 2012. I remember you much smaller. Hiding behind the same blue curtain,. I was seeking you, the same old person. I thought I ever was,. Scared that our familiars. Wouldn't warm to who I believed I was to be,. Knowing you were already. Greener, healthier than me. You were much smaller then,. But like the bulb through a pinhole. I was older then. My future passing on a foot sole. Keeping away from the grey. Like the deflating bouncy castle. The moment the party's first parent says,.

4

From the Fort: Shorties

http://www.theshypoet.blogspot.com/2012/06/shorties.html

Tuesday, June 19, 2012. From the other side of the wall. Like iron filings to a magnet, fingerprints cling to matchsticks. As you flick them curving inside a cold cathedral. The glow dies out before hitting dry bricks. And you lose all hope of illumination. But in the huge echoed empty I feel you murmur. And you’re no further away than you ever were. On a clear day I can see home from here,. If I climb high enough –. Or I’ll inhale the pennies from the river bed. Every time I’m low enough.

5

From the Fort: When the branches began to fall

http://www.theshypoet.blogspot.com/2012/01/when-branches-began-to-fall.html

Monday, January 2, 2012. When the branches began to fall. That day hasn't resonated so much until today. When some zebra crossing in the city caught you. In its stripes like a wobbly mother's arms,. Like the only forgiving limb of the road. That day almost a year ago that I'm still trying to swallow -. You felt crazy, you said -. There was no one else around. And the fear had manifested in the both of us,. Sunk so quiet, secret,. Took on some shape like reckless hilarity,. Little home like barley. I just...

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Sunday, September 23, 2012. A long time coming. You were always older than any of us expected,. Sallow since the first photograph;. Hair glowing translucent through the dimness and the dark,. Red curtains showing through the back of you. While a sunset tries to flood the gaps between your bones. I heard your voice today. Growing into the room and rusting as it reached us. You would have loved to know, we said,. Just how much we’ve all grown. Since those old bones were flooded. And would have loved to know.

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