Promissory

Posted on February 26, 2020 by John Biscello

At the commonest altar,

a stone is laid.

A voice asks you

to turn over the stone

and find your name.

You do as you are told,

and then inform the voice

that there is no name to be found,

anywhere.

Good,

the voice brightens,

and out of the blue

appears a single white feather.

Now that you know who you are not,

the voice says,

replace this stone

with that feather.

Its lightness,

coupled with silence,

invites you to write something new,

but do it in the air, where history cannot be traced

or sealed,

and the burdens of false claims

become as unsigned wind.

The voice disappears.

You are left alone

at the commonest altar,

with the presence of a single feather

anointing the largesse

of a promised unknown.

About John Biscello

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001. He is the author of four novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale, Raking the Dust, Nocturne Variations, and No Man’s Brooklyn; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag, two poetry collections, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street; and a fable, The Jackdaw and the Doll, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama. He also adapted classic fables, which were paired with the vintage illustrations of artist, Paul Bransom, for the collection: Once Upon a Time, Classic Fables Reimagined. His produced, full-length plays include: LOBSTERS ON ICE, ADAGIO FOR STRAYS, THE BEST MEDICINE, ZEITGEIST, U.S.A., and WEREWOLVES DON’T WALTZ.

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This entry was posted in Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged John Biscello, lightness of being, of feathers and stones, poem, the promise, who you are, who you aren't. Bookmark the permalink.

Promissory

At the commonest altar,

a stone is laid.

A voice asks you

to turn over the stone

and find your name.

You do as you are told,

and then inform the voice

that there is no name to be found,

anywhere.

Good,

the voice brightens,

and out of the blue

appears a single white feather.

Now that you know who you are not,

the voice says,

replace this stone

with that feather.

Its lightness,

coupled with silence,

invites you to write something new,

but do it in the air, where history cannot be traced

or sealed,

and the burdens of false claims

become as unsigned wind.

The voice disappears.

You are left alone

at the commonest altar,

with the presence of a single feather

anointing the largesse

of a promised unknown.

About John Biscello

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Promissory

At the commonest altar,

a stone is laid.

A voice asks you

to turn over the stone

and find your name.

You do as you are told,

and then inform the voice

that there is no name to be found,

anywhere.

Good,

the voice brightens,

and out of the blue

appears a single white feather.

Now that you know who you are not,

the voice says,

replace this stone

with that feather.

Its lightness,

coupled with silence,

invites you to write something new,

but do it in the air, where history cannot be traced

or sealed,

and the burdens of false claims

become as unsigned wind.

The voice disappears.

You are left alone

at the commonest altar,

with the presence of a single feather

anointing the largesse

of a promised unknown.

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About John Biscello

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