REFLECTION.

 

I wonder.

"[I pretend] I am the journalist."

"I sit as the watcher and look with calm eyes."

"[My] imagination begins to flower, [as I] open a door and address the possibilities before me."

"Her eyes are a home to silent prayers,"

"the whispering has evoked an atmosphere of silence". "haunted by the ghost of sound. "

"Through the long corridors the ghosts of the past walk, un-forbidden,

hindered by only broken promises, dead hopes, and dreams, [turned to dust]."

"[One will] travel the world over in search of what [they] need,"

"[only to] return home to find it. "

"Behind all [of] this; some great happiness is hiding."

[Underneath it all, a longing or a glimpse of something more.] 

 

[Her soul is] hiding, in a cold dark place.

[In her] hand lies a beautiful rose,

"[She's] in the dark - [there seems to be] no escape.."

"Her anger [and pain] is shown by the tears in [her] eyes."

 

"She longs for love," she longs for a little bit of understanding."

"[Fall is in the air [the autumn] scene is colored by numbers."

[It's as if the leaves are painted, by the scars that have been left behind..]

"[She has] come back again to where [she] belong[s], not an enchanted place, but [here] the walls [seem] strong."

I step back. - I look again to see.

The reflection is familiar,

 

                                      I discovered the reflection was of me.    

                                                                       By Memory Ann Forwalt

 

 

Piece Description:

     Perhaps one of the most fascinating things about this piece is the way in which the words came about.

     The author recalls the fall day in which the pieces of her found poem magically appeared, as if by no other reason, but by fate. She was rushing along, as life often requires, and on that day she was running late. Instead of getting upset over her lost time, she chose to enjoy her walk as she admired the fall colors and the vibrant display that one might find during that season. There, rustled in and mixed with the fallen leaves, she discovered torn pieces of another's poem; a part of their life in which they had shredded and simply thrown away, discarded and forgotten. 

     She didn't collect them all. She didn't pick up every piece. But instead, chose to let the pieces talk to her, so they could decide which words should speak. The words that were written touched her in a personal way. It was as if the words she had been looking for, but could not find, had been simply handed to her on a silver plate. Another's trash became her treasure as she found a way to incorporate the shredded pieces of another's life into her own. There on those shredded pieces of paper, she found the words to be exactly what she had needed to say. They became her inner "reflection:' and they had found a way to escape. The other borrowed pieces were incorporated from a book she had found in the bookstore for a mere two dollars and ninety-nine cents.