In the Valley

I'm the phantom speaking.

All I am is grey. Color drained. 

The eyes tell all. 

There's no story left in the way.

A last letter hangs off the page. 

Ink is fading. "Hold me," you say.

The ground is still cold.

"It's raining," it weeps, "it will all day."

I'm the phantom speaking.

What is there? What is in me?

Empty sheets. Cotton soaring on clothes lines. 

Inescapable. 

"I love you no less."

Yesterday aches me. Agony is in all the flowers. 

Gardens are sweet and sickening. 

I said, I knew. I said, I knew. 

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I just want you to know that your poem has such a haunting quality about it. I read it several times and found myself drawn in with each passing read. Excellent work Anna.