In a prose poem from The Whole Night, Coming Home Roo Borson offers a set of sentences that remind one of the ghazal form. The sentence clusters hang separately like couplets and they resonate — there is some inkling of a reason for their proximity even if one cannot quite express the creative tension they embody.
A paper kite, mauve in the light that has already forgotten us, still tugs at its string, attached to the earth somewhere.
This is when it is first detected, not as a thought, but because of the surprise. When the smell of the fuchsias comes tolling.
These are the concluding sentences of “Fuchsias”. The colour mauve is of course an element that ties together the kite in flight and the tolling of scent. And in the hands of such an accomplished poet, the very description of these flowers as “crumbs of fire” floats in the mind like, well, as she calls them, “crumbs of fire”.
And so for day 296