her hands
are shaken; clenched & furrowed
with
this city was
forever.
there are scars around her fingers. whitened dimples
where she has shaped herself for
lifetimes. this lifetime was
shorter than string, smaller than the angels’ pin, framed
in those
empty hands, those
empty eyes
this city –
but
concrete crumbles; it shudders & sighs into breathless surrender
and
her life may be measured
in photographs
(because epitaphs are fragile
as stone)
Author notes
paperback lampshade
earthquake weather
& golden macabre
for TI9; 'paperback' for fragility, about-to-tear skin, 'earthquake weather' as that weight/taste of disaster on the air and 'golden macabre' as death that is precious.
(for 'city', I needn't say read 'family,'?)
A contest entry
- Show me something. by morgana raven.
900 points, ended December 30, 2008, 80 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Excellent. You seem to enjoy writing about time, or at least, that is the sense I get. Wonderful piece
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