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Poetry • by Carla Harris
PLAY AUDIO VERSION: voice of Carla Harris
“I, the unspiritual”
I, the unspiritual,
still own the roughness of hearing
The note, a gregorian banter
an ongoing desire to be heard
at a loss for all words
while cinder-block walls listen
intently. Repainted with crusted patterns
Like, maybe the grout was after
thought, drawn & measured
to seem like many
but this entire wall that contains me
was a tall, long poured slab, make it
a double, in a short glass (we’ll
keep it a secret, just you & me)
maybe they poured once & scratched in these
quasi lines to offer a smaller sense of scale
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[Distillate © HA&L + Carla Harris | {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]
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