Saturday, May 17, 2014

From A Jar

From a jar
I came,
invented.

I sit demurely
on a table
between beakers.

See my delicate wrists,
my breasts,
my smile.

From his visions,
my conjuror
drew me.

Into many more
of his making,
he imagines me.

For now I will bide,
breathe,
smile.

He imagines that I am pleased.

12 comments:

Mr Puddy said...

From the jar, you should not leave without doggie biscuit !
I'm pretty sure Bosco will love to have some ;)
xoxo

Ps : thanks for always be a great friend

hedgewitch said...

I like the cadence in this Shay. The tercets are tight, yet they lead the mind on expansively with their rhythm and the way the words fall. This is one i would loan you my 'dances with mad scientists' tag for.I especially like the fourth and fifth stanzas, which bring the grue, and the 'for now...'

Scarlet said...

Who cares if "he" is pleased, we are pleased...by this poem. So Shay-like. xo

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Why do I have the sense that soon he will be in the jar, before he knows what's hit him? hee hee.

Kerry O'Connor said...

This says a whole lot about the type of person who tries to reinvent the woman in his life to suit his own purposes- invariably this ends in disaster.

HermanTurnip said...

Ah, to be in the midst of your creator, but yearning to be truly free. Hauntingly beautiful in its simplicity!

Lolamouse said...

I, too, get the eery feeling that the creator is soon going to be deconstructed!

Lynn said...

I'm pleased by your poem!

Daryl said...

'for now i will bide' ... uh hah .. yup .. for now ... love it

manicddaily said...

Yikes--I sense either breaking glass or cut veins. k.

Sara said...

Be careful of whom you create
You might become who she ate:~)

Mama Zen said...

Yes!