Fall 2006


Mannequin Envy


  a journal of visual and literary arts
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dr_trim

featured artist:
dominic rouse

Cherilyn Ferroggiarro

~fall 2006 ~

The Succession of Early Exaltation




"I am a brat from northern California, in school to become a Physician's Assistant, and have appeared in a variety of poetry, photography and art journals, both online and in print. I am the Assistant Editor of The IBPC, Chief Photography Editor for Surface Online, and board owner of The Versifier Online Poetry Forum.

Some publications include: Quercus Review, Pearl, The Beat, Poetry Canada, 63 Channels, Thunder Sandwich, Spent Meat, Underground Voices, Zygote in My Coffee, 12 Gauge, The Melic Review, Surface Online, All Things Girl, Erosha, Antipatico, Poems Niendergasse, Haggard and Halloo, Locust, Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, Stirring, A Little Poetry (forth-coming), From East to West, and Babel Magazine."

http://cherilynferroggiaro.blogspot.com/





The Succession of Early Exaltation 

 
 
First is the ache worn soft at the breast,
a slow burn that quickly turns to an unruly
blaze. Because, because love can be
mulish, merciless, a broken appendage,
a tumult above the hemline—
each moment one in its own.

There is the initial
fall; a touch against flesh,
        in introversion, almost always
                in introversion—
a blossom along
the thigh that marks the beginning
of courtship, hesitant like the epitome

of love, or standing in the middle
of a channel, contemplating the meaning
        of a whisper—when the ear feels breath
but cannot get the gist.
 
Perhaps, it is voice that flutters away, white noise
that rises to the surface, gestures that lie bare
beside splintered
glass
        —a wreck of views.

And in a rented room, you glance from behind linen,
see yourself up to your knees
in cloud-less blue—

only it is not cloud-less blue; it is the snow of bitter
winter, where the eyes now lose all color,
where language
slips

deep into a lover’s mouth and like first rain, slowly
dissolves line by unrehearsed line, struggling
free from the structure that held it
for so long—
 
        drawing last breath before forever
like a crossbow
or an idle conversation caught
on the tongue, gasping for reprieve.