Angela Ball: “Each Person a Corridor”
EACH PERSON A CORRIDOR
for Pierre Reverdy
Where you come from
a bird is a ship flying low,
a page streamlined
for a pocket. Where you started out,
clouds jockey, camouflaged.
A bell tower end-stops the air
with its stylus. Water drops
find oval containers, their preference.
Each tree has a secret
hat-size, not to be violated. The lower road
pretends to ignore the upper,
fastens a river
with a narrow bridge. Imperceptibly, soil
lifts its cover. At night the last house
signals the first, a curtain dog-ears
the flow of windows. Where you still
are, silence tells your origin:
a husband fled far away,
two parents prevented
from marriage. Between your lips
a cigarette balances
its long ash.
Angela Ball is the recipient of awards from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Mississippi Arts commission, among others. Her most recent book of poetry is Talking Pillow (University of Pittsburgh Press). She teaches in the Center for Writers, part of the School of Humanities at the University of Southern Mississippi.