My Book
By Isabella S
The world behind the book is lit.
I can see through walls of concrete
through the plastic of remotes and television
wires of all colours that knot together
words and magician’s secrets,
ancient tunnels held up by rusting metal supports
fallen down rocks covered in lichen
crabs are coral coloured, yet they hide in rocks
it makes no sense whatsoever
they’re just looking, completely still
like stars in the daylight
huge burning balls floating in cold blue
on the other side of the moon
drawers full of nail clippers and bobby pins and lost lids
the sofa and armchair have sheets lying over them
the boxy television is still spluttering out static
the room behind the book is lit by
the other side of the one way mirror
white light comes through the cracks
the shadows in the corner still move.
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This poem was awarded First Place Secondary for Poetry Object 2013
Judge's notes:
This poem has many layers. On the surface, it is bright with assonance, consonance, alliteration, and an assortment of striking visual images. Underneath the surface, it tells the story of a book that lets the narrator see through walls, television sets, and dresser drawers. Instead of clearly telling the reader what to think, it creates a mysterious atmosphere using hints and repeated images, and allows the reader to draw his or her own conclusions. Every time I reread this poem, I find something new and exciting inside it.
~ Rachael Briggs, Judge, Poetry Object 2013
