Monday, October 7, 2013

Skeletons (OctPoWriMo Entry #7)




The stones are dull and dark,
rusted red and dusted with
the remnants of their
mortar joinings.  He
can see sunlight
when he wishes,
pressing himself into
the empty spaces, a task
made possible by time, the
subtle crush of bone abandoned
in the corner like soiled clothing. 
He remembers the shush and
shuck of it, the slide of his
skin releasing, soul
easing to new
torment. 

Sometimes, he
hears her in the hall,
humming the same tune
he waltzed to at his wedding. 
He wedges those bits of himself
will fit into the wall to watch her
as she walks, threads himself
into the paint of his own
portrait in the parlor.

They spend quiet
evenings there, staring,
each daring the other to blink. 

And then she sleeps and
he returns to the heap
of himself inside the
wall where she
left him.



Poet's Note:  Today's prompt was to do a narrative poem.  I like narrative poems but I struggled with it nonetheless.  I think this is more a snapshot than a narrative but hopefully there's a bit of a story in there for you.  I think it needs some polish but the bones (pun intended) are there.

4 comments:

  1. Oh, Annia! I don't know what more you could do to this poem for polish.

    An audible gasp came from me when I read: "the
    subtle crush of bone abandoned
    in the corner like soiled clothing.
    He remembers the shush and
    shuck of it, the slide of his
    skin releasing, soul
    easing to new
    torment."
    Then again, Anna, at this:
    " He wedges those bits of himself
    will fit into the wall to watch her
    as she walks, threads himself
    into the paint of his own
    portrait in the parlor."

    Can you tell I loved it? xoA

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    Replies
    1. Oh thank you! I'm so glad you liked it! I had fun with the poem but probably would have nit-picked it for days were it not for the daily challenge. :-)

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  2. Replies
    1. Thank you! And thank you for reading...it truly is appreciated. :-)

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