a blank page of
nothing
smoothed flat by the blades of churning mills,
yellow leeched out in drip-drops of water
falling
falling
what paints the world in color?
black, the words stamped on featureless white
footprints in the flurry
that tells you right from wrong
sin from virtue
proof and testament of the world that came before
the evidence that the world that happens now
exists
these words are proof
that someone walked here
that someone
is painting something else
words in this empty field, lifeless and bare
and yet
it stretches to the end of time, this lonely human field of charcoal and
Ah, my apologies.
There are only so many words one person can draw
on this place where everything is
wiped clean once more.
The Junction Journal 
Hey Sarah, thanks for writing this poem! I just wanted to drop by and leave a little comment.
The word you chose for the title was really end catching, I think it really caught my eyes because I love the snow. When reading your poem I got a sense of a flat space of white-nothingness, followed by the occasional stamps of black ink. Ink that’s used to write words or phrases that dictates our communication. It made me think about just how much we humans write on a daily basis and how much power those writings hold. Despite holding all that power, it can just be washed away ever so easily, prepared for the next lines of text that will eventually take the place of something erased from time.
One of my favorite lines was “black, the words stamped on featureless white”, I love this line as it’s so simple yet describe so much. It answers the question proposed in the prior line and tells us what’s colored black. It also leads into the other parts of the poem, as it explains what preserves the ideas of the past and the stepping stones left behind by those who were here before us.
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I really loved this poem and its title initially piqued my interest. While reading this poem I felt a repressive angle. The idea that our words are proof of our existence, thoughts and ideas. Like the poems says “these words are proof
that someone walked here
that someone
is painting something else” This made me also think of censorship. How the poems talks of a blank white page and even when something is written it will be wiped clean once more. The poem says “proof and testament of the world that came before
the evidence that the world that happens now”
The fact that the erasure or suppression of words to be used on paper is a tool of control because it’s being erased to never be seen. If the paper was going to always end up back to white and blank
,every word or color is defiance.
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Hi Sarah, I really enjoyed the imagery and structure of the poem. The title’s imagery itself drew me in at first.
I really liked the beginning word choices, because it open up sort of a dark tone to the poem.
“a blank page of nothing, smoothed flat by the blades of churning mills,” gauges at the idea of preparing the slate for something new to happen. But, instead of a hopeful beginning the connotation is something that hints a forceful and perhaps violent process of restarting something.
The word choice of “leeched” in the next line also carried through a dark tone.
The question asked “ what paints the world in color?” presents the process of making a mark or with our existence.
That “black” words “stamped on a featureless white” is what gives the proof and definition of our existence. I like the usage of the words, black and white, as it provides such a direct image of tainting something that contrasts with the original.
The words we write also convey the right from wrong in our actions.
And that reminded me of the saying “history is written by the victors”
In many parts of history words have been manipulated to bend to the will of those who wanted to spread a message, harming or helping others.
I liked comparison of the effects of words. “lonely human field of charcoal” that “stretches to the end of time,” suggesting the preservation, and reach, words have to offer. But the line “words in this empty field, lifeless and bare” bring me back to the beginning.
The world is “wiped clean once more,” signed to me how the desire and struggle to leave a mark is more futile than people think, words can only ever be a partial representation of the larger truth or experience.
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