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Click hereDark Slim took me reaping
when I was a girl.
"Gretchen,
you be fetchin' them at dawn."
His tongue was a graver digger,
shoveling words from his mouth.
"Pretty, pulsing glowabouts?"
I was a child,
all braids and bones.
Preacher pressed his God palm
against my forehead. Still,
I was a sickly child,
and Dark Slim,
my constant companion
from black hour 'til a second past
daybreak — moment of first light
that was enduring for no one
except Slim and me
and the glowabouts.
I am well now,
and dawn happens in an instant.
-
copyright d. dixon
2006
-
I friggin loved it. The voice here is extraordinary, and spookily childlike in the way I suspect you intended. Since I don't read this as much for "meaning" as for voice and tone and sound, it's hard to bring up a "meaning" related critique, but in this case I have a very abstract one: my head was absolutely with you until the last line, and then you lost me. I can't tell you why, except that dawn seems so anathema to the images and theme, it's more like a cymbal crash at the end of the piece, rather than the low thrum of a bass note which is what I expected and wanted. Crazy, non-helpful, I know, but that's my critique. Give it only the weight it's worth.
I like this poem in general for its non-indulgent attitude towards the threat of death and particularly for the amazing images:<br>
His tongue was a graver digger,<br>
shoveling words from his mouth.<br>
<br>
all braids and bones. <br>
<br>
pressed his God palm<br><br>
Just not sure about "glowabouts." Are these a type of luminescent insect that disappear as the light of the sun drowns their light?