Long Lace Faces (an erasure poem)

We were asked, at We Write Poems (a Thursday poetry prompt) to use a snippet of Dorothy Miller's Richardson's "Pointed Roofs" and literally erase portions of text until we came up with our own, unique poem.

Ill write it out here, but seeing it in its original erasure form is also cool, and you can try the form for yourself. So here's my erasure intact:

http://www.wavepoetry.com/erasures/erasures.php?poemid=2445

And here's the poem. See other erasures at http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com

LONG LACE FACES
an Erasure, from Dorothy Miller Richardson's "Pointed Roofs"

high, plentiful long
lace faces--
collected sense of misery
lessons were dreadful experiences of
home
a little running
her own part swollen
her fingers
so weak
had
suddenly stiffened
at the end trembling.
dreadful movements. She heard nothing
till the end and as she stood up
she pushed angry way from the
clear red-hot mass of fire
green Chartreuse blue and cream.
stupid people made her play. How angry she had been
the forgotten guest she knew
poked all the girls
her heart trembling and burning eyes
thumping stiff
feelings faint
soundlessly until the thumping began again.
evenings, hoping afresh to be alone. But
she could not discover getting rid of
miserable nervous Mr. Strood
she did him credit, once
in a way that had thrilled her...
The tournament.

2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore (Sharp Little Pencil)

My First Publication

It's a big thrill for a writer to get that first publication. I've had websites pick up my work before, but holding the journal in my hands was a buzz!

SUDDENLY THE POSTMAN RINGS

It lay in the mailbox for an hour
Bathed by sun on our front porch, it was
warm to the touch.

Ripping open the wrapping
all is revealed
"The Awakenings Review"

Suddenly, I am published
Not the same as melisma and other
cyber publications

Tangible, touchable
Held in my hands
not by my computer screen

One speaks of abuse
One of the onset of depression
One of psychiatrists

All are me
All have something in common with other contributors
All of us, mentally ill and still creating

Suddenly, my entire world changed
There are still dishes to be washed
But first, a little writing...