Window II, Michelle Chaplin

To create this poem, I separated 100 words of personal prose and kept only my favorite words. Then I wrote the vertically chosen words. This is the result.


Cracked seeps shape and shade
faint scuffling bones
in hot

Gust cool wind–

creaking, cracking


Here is my original source text.

I pause at the end of the hallway and stare
at the cracked window pane. A gust of cool,
damp air seeps through. That feeling isn’t natural,
I think to myself. There’s something about the
shape and shade of the wind that makes the tiny
hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I stand frozen, and I listen. I hear some faint scuffling.
Creaking. Cracking
bones. Distant laughter. A car engine revving.
I inch toward the door, until I finally stand directly
in front with a hot face. Sweat trickles. I wait.


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