Tuesday, February 4, 2014

The white room

We sit in a long white room
at either end of a long white table
tableclothed in white, white dishes
and white utensils, servants dressed
in white. The table is too long
for conversation, so we sit
in the long white room, listening
to white noise playing softly.
Only the painting of a red square
in its white frame on the white wall
breaks the whiteness. We look
at the centerpiece, a white vase
of white chrysanthemums. We watch

the room dissolve, fade to white.


Martha Jane Orlando said...

I love this!!!

Mary Sayler said...

Beautiful, Glynn! The room must be waiting for the Lord's Banquet. See you there. :)

TC Avey said...

Powerful and deep.

Planes, Trains, Roads | Charity Craig said...

Glynn - what a powerful poem. When I read, I get the sense of both purity and paucity. I wonder what emotion you hoped to evoke in the writing?

Glynn said...

Charity, I wrote it under the influence of Robin Robertson -- reading his "The Wrecking Light." I can't tell why, exactly, only that the image of a white room and a white table caught hold of my head.

Anonymous said...

the leaves
green leaves
green growing
center piece
center peace
garden green