From An Alley, A Flame

Written in the middle of the night when I had a fever.

I waited for days inside that
alley, dark - watching - dim
but somehow smelling
of stale lavender, when my
granddaughter danced the dance
of the dying -
- mad, wild, hair tossing, eyes glitter spark
glitter spark glitter spark dulling dulling.

She turns and turns, spinning -
oh daughter of daughter you will take off
these coats and we can feel the heat,
yes, love, we can feel the heat
in that body wracking with guilt,
with guilt with fear.

Once a young girl... you -
now - what are you now?
Where do you go now?
I know I cannot follow.

I tried.
I tried once.
I tried twice.
Perhaps I tried a third time.
I called you back I call you back.

You are not coming.

You never did oh my
girl when I thought you were here
you were already gone.

Now this heat, this fire
furious fighting fearsome flames.

My genius.
Burning yourself out before you could begin.

I will cry.
One day.

Not now.

Are you rising?
Burn, my flesh of flesh, burn.

Did you come back last night?
I was waiting -
the alley was silent.
I thought I saw a spark ignite
and a gate open.
Were you burning your way back home?

The fire rose quickly when the door shut.
The flames coloured the sky an orange light
like the crayons we used when you were small.

But then the cold came.

You died.
And I still don't know why.

© Morney Wilson

Reviews

[larryb]

Well written for being sick, you are very talented.

[justjenn_2u]

So bittersweet. Never know why someone passes, always wondering how life could have been. A beautiful creature in the gates of heaven while you are in the cold alley. One day the two shall meet again.