there was nothing beautiful about her
pale and pinioned like a doll
in a box
though I couldn't see the stitches (a masterful job)
I knew her lips were sewn shut
to keep her mouth from falling open.
I used to kiss those lips to keep them shut,
avoiding the poetry she babbled about the morning
and the breeze
and the pidgeons in the courtyard;
and now
what I wouldn't give to hear her speak of wings.
I was left with sunsets and mornings
and ropes taped on the ends to keep from fraying.
without glory, but the stark reality of the sun coming around
one more time
I ascended the stairs
and watched snow fall in the streets below.
Author notes
Prompt: “The problem with people like us is that we don't die properly.”
~ Andrew Davidson
A contest entry
- The Gargoyle-- by aestival.
1150 points, ended August 21, 7 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Did it work for you?
Comments
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Well deserved bronze.
Some writing can be read silently, but this is very much a piece that must be spoken in order to capture the lilting of the sounds:
"kiss those lips to keep them shut," and the words "pinioned" and "pigeons" provide a wonderful sonic alliteration . . . like a recurring theme.
Also, I liked the understated ending:
"one more time
I ascended the stairs
and watched snow fall in the streets below"
This is an excellent piece full of texture and imagery. Here too an empty longing, a numbing loss; a loss of overwhelming proportions. Very well done.
Garrison
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I liked how this unfolded; every line added something to the one before it. it's a beautiful poem!
"and now
what I wouldn't give to hear her speak of wings."
is such an excellent line.
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