Tattered Shade

How many lifetimes did it take
to make that tattered shade,
darkened by the soot of soiled hands,
torn to beckon light into the room,
clawed to shreds in trying to escape?
To shape the edge into the blackened fingers
hanging in the window, burnt by sun;
a shroud to shield the soot that settles
in the cells of all the voices filled with light –
clings to paper walls of faded roses;
petals peeling off the plaster cracks.
Tear off the shroud and throw open the window;
call spirits from the mirrors – and away.

*Inspired by Andrew Wyeth’s self-portrait, The Revenant (1949),


Ann Grenier's picture

I am a retired town planner, and consultant to non-profit organizations. Currently writing poetry on my blog "Knot In Line". Working on a novel. I am a wife, mother, grandmother, country dweller, and armchair philosopher questioning life through poetry in this twenty first century.

Last updated September 30, 2011