poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:100

author : title
LEWIS BOSWORTH : Faces at the Bottom of the Well
LEWIS BOSWORTH : Union Square Twitter

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Faces at the Bottom of the Well

As I peered down at the murky Distance beneath, a stalactite Scratched my shoulder. She looked to belong there, Translucent in her birth suit, A callous icepick in drag. I gagged on the still water’s Stench, hoping for a mirror To spy on the carp below. Strange sounds came from the Depths filling me with fright, A white sheet covered my head. My memories of life before The well emphasized My pledged share of crops. Looking down at turmoil, A witches brew, a caucus of Black children as phantoms. What does the mob spawn? Down there in the shadows? Can they sell me again? My story is growing faint, It gnaws like a cancer In line to pay the poll tax. The terror of being thinned Out is one way to judge The faces of injustice. A leprosy of the soul plagues Me, this scurrilous writ of right To cultivate cotton and tobacco. Two small visages glare up, The girl has dry hair, The boy wears suspenders. Terrible myths surround The tales of cherubim Cursing the walls of mold. I look down again at The single bucket, its clamor Pealing against the bricks. There is a dizziness about Staring into an infinite liquid, Call it vertiginous space. Consider the opposite, Gazing up at me, seeing And feeling raindrops. Inside this well lurk a Paradox and an illusion, Duplicitous evils. Seeing the faces at the Bottom is an illusion, That they exist is paradoxical. Black isn’t black, but white Isn’t white, another paradox, Test them for translucence. In this day we are challenged To be just, to hold high Our heads, never to abort. The penultimate favor Is of forgetfulness, of Ignorance, of mercy. The only face left is That of the white sheet Covered in dust and sweat.

poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:100

Union Square Twitter

down the up subway #a small female wearing a fedora a little boy dressed proudly #in an ASPCA sign an NYU journalism major #who promises Halloween candy if I answer 8 true-false questions a man in an ascot leads a purebred #red-haired dog on a leash, fresh from his limousine a noontime walk under a blue #cloudless sky the annual harvest in the square #and a prêt-à-manger lunch with a ginger beer and brownie burqas are commonplace, #cell phones are not cabs whizz by on a narrow roadway, #some are empty the architecture is protective, #it exists to mask a man looks down from his loft #and smiles

poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:100

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Faces at the Bottom of the Well. Lewis Bosworth. Madison, WI. I realized I wanted to be a writer – in earnest, for real – only in the last five years. I‘d been writing poetry since high school. Since then I’ve been writing in fits and starts; my most fertile periods were in the 60s – my college years – the 70s, 90s and recently.

Union Square Twitter.Reasons: To share with family and friends. To give a perspective on the world from my viewpoint – more eloquent and circumscribed than I could in prose or in person. As a linguist by training I thrive on language – from bits like sounds to syllables to words to sentences and more complex structures. This is the joy I wish to share; no rhyme or reason! I write in English most of the time, but also in French and Portuguese.