Overlooked Margins

Overlooked Margins

Small Flies and Other Wings

There in the overlooked
margins of the windowsill,

unpaired wings and webs
of grey lace and dust are
defused by the sun’s stare.

Wings lay mutilated like
some mental disturbance,

brushed by darkness and
sideslipped in the wake of
a free-hand or brushed breath.

They’re gathered into the wet
grasp of a cleaning cloth, and

their fragments flicked into
the garden with leaves, fallen
petals and nature’s debris.

Back from where they came,
there in the overlooked margins.

An Ekphrastic poem based on Christine Ay Tjoe’s painting “Small Flies and Other Wings” and written for Peter’s dVerse Circle prompt, and dVerse’s The Poet is a Painter.  © Misky 2021 Note: I keep missing Mr Linky’s expiration dates, so I decided to write to Peter’s circle prompt and use the image as background inspiration.

27 responses to “Overlooked Margins”

  1. Terrific piece and a great ekphrastic response. I liked all of this – but particularly the little shift in the first and last line: ending the first line with ‘overlooked’ – is an open invitation – you could be talking about anything overlooked; in the final after the wiping and tidying and the madness everything is neat now. So you’ve shown us the wings and the leaves and something of the person flicking the cloth. Lovely.


  2. Oh, I could just imagine those delicate, abandoned wings lying in the dust of ‘the overlooked margins.’ There’s probably a few of those where I live, if I’m honest…


  3. I love this poem, Marilyn, margin to margin! It’s a stunning two-for-one. There is such beauty in ‘unpaired wings and webs of grey lace and dust’, especially when they are ‘defused by the sun’s stare’. The shift to ‘mental disturbance’ is intriguing, and I’m so glad they were flicked into the overlookd margins of the garden. Lisa is right about you capturing the magic of the ordinary.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. We might might live eighty years or a day,
    Be all arms and legs and opposable thumbs
    Or chitin and wings
    Our leftovers gather
    In nooks and crannies
    We are not mainstream
    Just dreams
    And little things


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