Found Objects
In the mood of Atget
A skeleton, modeled
Half life size. A bust.
A mounted beetle.
Cultivated dust.
This bat wing, severed
From a life now flown;
Hinge and lever,
Articulated bone—
No: umbrella.
Mooding trumps my eye,
Invents details
To match memory—
A corset, empty
Of the shape it gave,
A passing city,
A fallen nest, a grave.
Say: how do
Your eyes still pin me flat,
When it’s you
Laid down in black and white?
Links:
[1] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/bio/katharine-coles?s=8ab5c5a8c991b8b352c39e050f6b5535
[2] https://www.ablemuse.com/v9/poetry/katharine-coles/dog-days?s=8ab5c5a8c991b8b352c39e050f6b5535