Then the terrible thing happened
That I, just ten, became the mystery of.
Green trousers and purple velour sleeves
And a refrigerator wrapped in duct tape lying
The places cats won't go. The climbing out onto the banks. The naked man.
What he needed from me I have no idea.
Something offensive: a revolver.
Let silence drill its hole.
Now I am safe in the deep V of a weekday
In the glaring white gap
The chill of closed eyelids
In a carousel-sweet dress
How fibrous and incidental it seems.
Someone stands and weeps in the glass telephone theatre
Today, I bring you a special poetry prompt. Poet Danielle Pafunda, who has been posting her NaPoems over at the Bloof Books website, has organized a cento contest. What’s a cento? It’s a poem composed entirely of lines from other poems.