Monday, June 27, 2016

her vacant heart ...


her vacant heart ...
she sits by the window
her hands pressed against the cold glass
her eyes downcast and half-closed
her shoulders crumbling
her body shivering
her vacant heart
reaching out to gather up
a hundred fragments of memory
the moments of a devotion
she struggles to recover
and prevent from slipping into lost-forever
so her thoughts wander
to the laughter and the joy
of another time
a just-before-yesterday
when he moaned with mock surprise
as she stepped from a shower of shadows
to be his
and only his
when his hands unfolded her
on the half-broken bed
like he was opening the petals of a rose
and scattering the fragrance of love
over all the world
seeding the passion of every hungry heart
with a promise
a promise so cruelly broken
on the day she watched him descend from the stairs
and step through the door
without so much as a backwards glance
leaving her with only a patchwork satchel of poems
words scribbled on scraps of paper
words just for her
words so eternally beautiful
that she believed his embrace
would be everlasting

she turns from the cold glass
and studies soft beads of light
pooling like tear-drops across the floor
and her sadness swells
as she reaches for him still
her clenched fists
grasping at hollow air
searching for
the firm flesh of his body
even as she knows
that her sweet remembrance
has already slipped away
into an empty tomorrow
she quiets her soul and
turns back to the window
where she sees her reflection
her features
diffused and distorted
by the leaded panes
and her heart stops when
she suddenly sees the ghost of him
crossing behind her
the sensation so real
she can almost see
the glimmer in his eyes
the glow of his cheeks
can almost feel
his strong arms
embracing her still
and warming her body
but in the next instant
the spectre is gone
the fantasy shattered
and the torment returns

she turns away again
a resolute expression
crossing her face
while she gathers up
a jumble of photographs
images of their smiling faces
when and where
then and there
happier days
now so sad to remember
and she spills them
with his poems
into the cold black fireplace
disowning this tumble
of cruel reminders
of what was
disavowing the plaintive
hope of what might
have been
and though a shiver
snakes its way
up the small of her back
though she feels as if
she is trapped
in some vague and dark
shadow of death
she lights a match
and flings it into the pile

her mind claws
through her feelings
ignoring her weakness
and forsaking her sentimentality
searching instead
for a full stop
a note of termination
as the tokens of her short
love affair
catch fire and burn up
in swirls of blue-grey smoke
and in that moment
she finds herself content
her lips parting
in a melancholy smile
as she whispers softly
and fills the desolate room
with the simplest of words
"I will remember you always"
until just as suddenly as
the flutter of her heart ceases
she hears a loud knock at the door
and a familiar voice
his voice
calling to her from the porch
his voice always so resonant
and now an overture to hopefulness
his voice cascading through her
in waves of crashing confusion
the ebb and flow of ambivalence
overpowering her
as the seconds build a bridge
back to him
but then a determination
an exploding certainty
that brings the bridge down in ruins
and leaves her illusions crumbling at her feet
her eyes are weeping
and a mixture of joy and dread
sweeps through her veins
filling her heart with longing
and still
she dares not move

 








 








 
 


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