A purple hexa gon has pride of place. Born of a certain violence, a rash of squares and triangles cascades towards a yellow egg. On this a skeleton is etched. But look again. The white bones form a face - and not what we had thought. So quick ly now, before his thick black zig- zag - like chain saw's teeth - obliterates the features scratched there with such care. Above the scene, a net. Below a dense criss cross of railway lines. All this: the alpha bet and syntax of his lone attempt to reach our minds with his. Today a cut and thrust of cut and pasted cross word bits filled in with signs and symbols, al ong with pictures from his book of trains. Prefix and suffix to his private words, are special clues he keeps for those he trusts. Another time he shows his jig saw skills. Assembles a large puzzle - upside down he'll say, but means inverted - picture to the floor - then picks, unerringly a piece which is a further clue - an eye - could we but understand. He studies us to see if we can tell... gives up and shows instead a photograph. Himself in football gear. He holds a cup - and from each face, that rarest of all things: a smile. ..................................Written in response to Victoria Slotto's rich selection of prompts, Steampunk and Enjambment - but there's more than this on offer - at dVerse Poets Pub. Go see, why don't you?
I chose to work with enjambment and to write again about a boy who was the subject of a post almost exactly four years ago. You can read it here.