The Memory Of Things

Those days, hang suspended

In the mind, a kind of lazy

Sun-bleached tint and darkened corners.

You were the absence in the night-time

Landscapes where the air lay thick

Over skin still slick with swimming

In the green-slimed pools, provided

By the late spring showers.

Where pinkish ears stung, filled with

Buzzing of the swarming masses

Crowding, wing on wing, to reach the

Deadly glow of flame.

And in a moment, half-awake

I spoke to you as once I had, but turned,

To find the empty porch and dying moths

In dim lamplight.

 

I think the walls remembered you,

The shape of slackened shoulders

As in those evenings when you leaned

In your semi-stupor, and pressed back

To the creaking boards.

You held your unlit cigarette,

The one you carried in the back pocket

Of fraying jeans for just such occasions

As these, held it between dry lips

And breathed as if you felt the smoke

Of latter days.

 

A skullish grin, more grimace than joy

Graced features better suited

To the grave.

But I thought you beautiful,

Even in your half-starved languor,

Bones pressed close to cheeks

And sunken eyes in taut white face.

 

Those days, the darkened corners

Seemed to sing your name.

Reviews

[Beatrice Mars]

oof. I love how you create really powerful images with just one or two lines, and they're all so beautifully twisted. I love the title as well, really deceptive, 'cause 'things' is such a throughaway word, but they're all strong, important images..love. x

[thehottamale]

I liked this one, it was unique and told a great story, you certainly have a way with words

[just is]

Such a powerful read here, I love the imagery.