Ripples

The river ripples. Its current crushes rocks 
into pebbles into sand. The wind ripples
the grass-- green feathers, green fur of the 
earth. You cut some roses from the earth.

Their red souls rise and turn white as ghosts,
as salt, as soap, as foam from the ocean. 
Give them to a girl who lives by the ocean
of ashes and sand. Lay them over your

mother’s grave. I have heard in the current
the murmur, the sound you sing, you’ve sung
since before the dead outnumbered us, the living. 
I have felt from afar the sour taste of fire still hot

on your breath, when once you ate the sun and it
didn’t disappear. Face it. The bushes of dried lilacs,
still fragrant. You’re singing again the song they’ll 
sing when the body your face belongs to lies down.

Reviews

[John F]

A very gentle, somewhat melancholic piece. There is a beauty here that hopes to be discovered, not in the name of vanity, but simply yo share itself with the deserving. Wondrous!

[zainul]

Lovely write on ripples.
We are used to consider ripples in water, but ripples in wind appears a new twist.
Love the presentation.

[Sami Khalil]

"I have heard in the current
the murmur, the sound you sing, you’ve sung
since before the dead outnumbered us, the living.
I have felt from afar the sour taste of fire still hot

on your breath, "
That is some good poetry...Thank you for sharing...:)

[Traci]

A very bittersweet read full of vivid imagery. Very nicely written Molly. I look forward to reading more of your work.