PostIndustrial WaterLily

after a Bruce Conner assemblage with hair growing out of it

coal chunks
smelted iron
black-lunged miners
steel rivets, girders
cut glass

never about the thing itself

light refracted by smoke, steam
filters through glass roof at Saint-Lazare
a woman disappears into transitory grey

how does the blue flame from a Midwest
faucet reflect from sink to face to mirror
in a winter’s morning light

how do fluorescent rays bounce off
water shot through deep shale

what swallows incandescence more
than wood scraps gripped by lead paint
under scratched plexiglass

fur from a thrift store collar
hair from a roadkill doll
two metal straps, one cut
white paint fans out like a lily

 


 

Sharon Coleman‘s a fifth-generation Northern Californian with a penchant for languages and their entangled word roots. She writes for Poetry Flash, co-curates the reading series Lyrics & Dirges, and co-directs the Berkeley Poetry Festival. She’s the author of a chapbook of poetry, Half Circle (Finishing Line), and a book of micro-fiction, Paris Blinks (Paper Press). Her most recent publications appear in Your Impossible VoiceWhite Stag, and Ambush Review. She’s been nominated twice for a Pushcart and once for a micro award for blink fiction.

 

 


 

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© MARY: A Journal of New Writing, 2017