Charcoal

By TOMMYE BLOUNT

 

lit by her fire, I was the scorched 
tree Clare West found

direction by; a swiftly drawn arrow 
became a drawn hood; an era gone 

Hollywood. She must have known
of the impression we’d leave 

in parchment, her handprints
left here. And here is where 

she held the page
in place to round out the hem,

to round out D. W. Griffith’s army
of extras, an Aryan empire out of old ember. 

How easily she broke me
down. Yes, I gave up 

the pure clean lines she’d been after. 
I remember her hands trembled 

when she lifted the white sheet to her face,
closed her eyes, then blew away my black ash.

 

 

Tommye Blount is the author of the chapbook What Are We Not For and the debut full-length collection Fantasia for the Man in Blue. Born and raised in Detroit, Tommye now lives in Novi, Michigan.

[Purchase Issue 24 here.] 

Charcoal

Related Posts

Image of a sunflower head

Translation: to and back

HALYNA KRUK
a healthy mind in a healthy body // hand-picked grains they are, without any defect, / as once we were, poised, full of love // in the face of death, I am saying to you: / love me as if there will never be enough light / for us to find each other in this world

many empty bottles

June 2024 Poetry Feature: New Poems by Our Contributors

KATE GASKIN
We were at a long table, candles flickering in the breeze, / outside on the deck that overlooks the bay, which was black / and tinseled where moonlight fell on the wrinkled silk / of reflected stars shivering with the water.

Messy desk in an office

May 2024 Poetry Feature: Pissed-Off Ars Poetica Sonnet Crown

REBECCA FOUST
Fuck you, if I want to put a bomb in my poem / I’ll put a bomb there, & in the first line. / Granted, I might want a nice reverse neutron bomb / that kills only buildings while sparing our genome / but—unglue the whole status-quo thing, / the canon can-or-can’t do?