VVP: Art 434 & Engl. 410

Website for Vision Voice and Practice: An Interdisciplinary Course in Art and Creative Writing

Monday, March 25, 2013

Poem in Conversation with Joseph Cornell

Historical Fragments

We sat on the bridge again last night.
The fog swallowed my fingers while
the homeless man skimmed gold-rimmed pages.

I sobbed in my father's arms after finishing Brothers K and
wiped my snot on the cement steps.
No one ever chooses to learn to be patient.

When I dream of you we never kiss,
a radio crackles and paintings fall off of museum walls,
my grandma blows bubbles in a thunderstorm.

My roots grow deeper
than any grave I can dig.
Pine-needles get stuck between my toes.

Things will always be muddy.
There will always be sunflowers.

- Rebecca Johnson

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