Melissa, memory keeps on buzzing
My head. I climb the stairs and take
A look inside our chambers, gazing
At darkness, empty, raw, awake.
The dawn begins to set the windows
On fire – eviscerating shadows.
“Oh, poor old Mr. Back,” you said
Upon discovering he’d fled
The city. “Only one casualty -
His soul, now burnt away from blood
And kin….” My love, you died in bed,
Our bed, my barren patrimony…
So cools the flame – and I endure
Your fading shade, another year.
Melissa Moran
July 17, 2012 by at 9:00 am
Glad to see some crossover between the Moran plot and the, erm, Back-story.
This is a good thumbnail sketch of Mrs Moran, nested in the larger and more detailed portrait of her widower. And the fire imagery remains very effective. Well done, sir.
Angelico,
Thankyoumuch!
Meanwhile, Bakhtinian polyphony breaks out like a cluster of brush fires…
JOB