leaping between boulders, hair
a shock of red in the dun
of the desert. I attempted to
recreate it, leaping over
a cavernous drop between
preserved ruins six miles
outside of Rome. I shudder
when the shutter clicks. This
image is on your headstone.
I am not on your headstone,
though a part of me is underground
with you, rotting beautiful.
But now the both of us, you
and the flower tucked in your
breast pocket, are dust and
your breast pocket is probably
dust, too, or a rag that some
creature has inhabited. I am
home to my grief; you are home
to ours. Some creature
is thriving on the home made
from both of us dissolving away.
Napowrimo 3: Something you are scared of.
4 comments:
Hi, Nathan. Loved "...underground with you, rotting beautiful." I'll be back. And I invite you to read my poems at www.gregoconnell.com (Find NaPoWriMo 2010 on the top menu bar) - Greg =)
Sad and beautifully written. I like the images of dust and the simple language describing complex feelings.
the beauty of emptiness. good stuff here!
Haunting and gorgeous, this never crosses over into the realm of the goth or maudlin.(Every time I write about death, it seems to turn into a parody of both). Very skilled work! I especially love the last line:
"Some creature
is thriving on the home made
from both of us dissolving away."
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