Curtains Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Just as night's linen line
flung and spread
down thickening raven
and ink curtains

covered with soot
to hang down
in its pitch gown of black air

gluing sky to earth
with a dark threaded weave,
dawn and morning
have been drifting down

with a cotton and daisy
satin, its shivering threads
of snow expanding
a powder and frost veil.

The screen is closing
up all holes
and glass spaces linking
sky and earth,

morning weavers
up above
tossing down unfolded
warps of cream fabric.

(ii)

The giant curtain
of powder twill and plain
weaves drawn down
to a swollen earth surface

in ridges and furrows,
sleeping porcelain
andchiffonbones and flesh
of snow roll themselves
out on streets

and lime green carpets
of grass dead drunk
with soaked snow, as creeping
weeds and withered grass
also gulp down their share,

drinking even more doses
of hard white liquor
from closely stitched

tottering sheets
of slanted cotton brooms
and flying feathers
of larger winged flakes.

Snow falls in sprinkles
and thick showers
flowing from air's large-
mouthed tap
turned on to pour out

more flying ashes
from melting white flies,

midgets andcart-
wheeled grasshoppers
and gray-bearded,
tight-lipped crickets

still flexing arms of snow
in a fight between
floating landing Lilliputians
in thin space

and white light insects
swirling into towers of air
in hanging
dancing threads in white dots.

(iii)

O broken streaks
from thick woolen threads
whipping air
as hovering feathers

and specks of flakes
slim down,
shedding shreds of floating
white fur from

sailing mammals in the snow
powder and misty
ashes of smaller flakes.

But sky's porous door
panel to earth
stretches out wider arms
to hug and wrap

itself up with light-torn
sheets of snow,
more cream and white

curtains drawn down
from air's window rails
broken down
by white spades and rays
of choked light.

How times melt even eyes
bowedto toes
for an orison to rip
open gods' hearts to openness,
when sobbing,

sniveling white skeletons
of trees wince
in a wingless wind,
a world pulling its curtains
only halfway.