The Whirlwind Review
Issue 1

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Regina Brault

The Art of Camouflage

In a World War II movie scene
the prisoner escapes his enemy
by submerging himself
in a shallow swamp.  Inhaling
through a hollow reed
that grows there, he goes unnoticed.

 To be invisible
conceal yourself beneath the surface.

 This is a cunning skill of choice
for those of us who walk alone
at sunrise, through winding valleys
where air is cooled below the dew point.
My trick is to slip through neighborhoods
like swamp fog stroking concrete
with muffled undertones
of worn-out soles.  The sun burns through,
thinning my camouflage to a mist
that sneaks past shade-drawn windows.
I retrace my footprints in wet grass
knowing that each new sun erases them

as if they were lines of whispered poetry
laid out like hollow reeds
to keep me breathing.

 





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