She was late.
The child’s flawless little ivory face was topped by jet hair so glossy it wove its own thin white ribbons out of the sunlight. She was guided to an empty Sunday School chair in front of mine by a gracefully erect woman, regal in royal blue.
Something was odd about her Mama’s arm.
I looked up as she turned to go, and gasped and shrank from her disfigured glassy visage, patchy with gaps and whorls. Eyebrow-less eyes took me in. An unsmiling lipless gash of darkness contained a small, probing pink tongue. Straightening, she glided away…
She was late.
Home huddled beneath threatening billows of black. She clawed free of neighbors, crazed to reach her baby. They were stunned she lived to make it out, a little bundle cocooned by her shielding, flaming flesh.
She bid her life, paid face and arms, and getting what she valued in the exchange, owned herself victor.
She was late.
But she was there.
Author notes
I met the two of them when I was about six, before the days of in-home smoke detectors. If you don't have one, get one and install it, please!
Adapted from a previous write I was told was not poetry, but prose...if you find it is not prose, please let me know what needs to be changed.
Mirthryl
A contest entry
- In process of judging. by Viva La Vie Boheme.
700 points, ended June 10, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 12 of 12
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Excellent at a little loss for words but this is wonderful
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What a magnificent telling, not only of heroism and the love of a mother, but of what truly matters most in this world.
I found myself shocked by her disfigurement, for your initial descriptions of her carriage had made her seem lovely and elegant. A perfect technique. That seeming "discrepancy" paints a picture of her strength of character in and of itself. It reminds the reader of what true beauty is.
This is a really touching story, told so well, it seems it could be my own memory.
Excellent characterization!
ten
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I cannot consciously claim your kind "perfect technique," though I shall try to remember it for future application. This is simply the retelling of a memory. She was slender and moved with graceful elegance in a beautiful blue fitted dress. Her arm beneath the 3/4 sleeve first caught my attention. When I anxiously told my Mom about it, she told me what had happened.
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Depth, strong emotion and imagery all combine here
to give the reader an intense "story". From all I
know of prose having only dappled myself; this is
the real thing and sure to encourage others to try
their hand. Blessings, Blue
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I have been curious about what Prose is and I am going to assume that this is good representation...plus, it has depth of content and emotional tones to it as well. Thanks for sharing
lol
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Thank you, 2lullabyhaven, for reading and commenting.
In all honesty, I have no idea if this is prose or not! I am hoping the contest host will clarify that for me. It's taken most of a year to feel I have a handle on what metaphor and similie are...I'm still in the dark as to the differences between prose and free verse! lol
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I remember this piece. I was moved reading it then, as I am now.
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oh my auntie..tears in my eyes..good luck in the contest..xxx
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The repetition really added a lot. This was a heartbreaking tearjerking poem.
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Thank you, crazymomma, for taking the time to read and comment.
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Outstanding
This piece is so heartbreaking, so emotional in its description... The repetition added a lot, the unfolding of the meaning of the opening phrase... truly unforgettable.
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Thank you, Mallig. It was certainly an intensely memorable childhood experience.
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