Cold as marble, armless, left to sink
in Grecian dust
a crumble down temple still smelling strongly
of sickeningly sweet incense
old woman, going through
a cedar trunk whose hinges creak
with her same bony movements
silly notions, like loose threads on rotted bobbins
that fit one of the earliest Singers
and warped 78s buckling under memories
you, crouching in darkness beneath my ribcage
like a rabid animal waiting
for me to get old and remember
what we didn’t have
a nickel for my thoughts, lost in Northern tar sands
for someone to find and wonder about the benefits
of such sticky things to be polished off
as if they were anything more than five and dime potentials
someone painted a cracking picture
that artists try to animate
but she’ll never be the same
as when sweaty hand of the woman
bemused such seriousness of a stained pauper
who would soon be no more than she
dust to dust and at what cost
Author notes
1. Love's survivor's benefits
In a list
A contest entry
- Pif Prompt Contest by penman.
525 points, ended April 29, 2008, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Wonderful
Very well done. Best of luck in the contest.
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"but she’ll never be the same
as when sweaty hand of the woman
bemused such seriousness of a stained pauper
who would soon be no more than she
dust to dust and at what cost"
Pensive, sentimental, loving & observant, my Friend. I loved this, too: "you, crouching in darkness beneath my ribcage". I know a feeling such as that. Good luck in the contest, Sweetie. 
Wanda
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oh yes, dear heart, we know that crouch well.... it crouches still and ever with no way to be resolved by light of anything I knwo of.
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