Empty Rooms

Empty Rooms
09.27.08

She was so much sadder than
we knew in her black socks,
with a shock of pink and
white irises;
with her sweater, the color of
sliced cucumbers and
dijon mustard;
with her brown hat, and beaded necklace
twisting over the flat plains of
her stomach.

She wore turquoise and tourmaline
bangles. Rose quartz over her heart and
copper as if it might connect her with
the ancient Mayans—some lost
civilization of gods. Garnet lipstick, lapis lazuli
contact lenses, she wanted to be airbrushed.
Set in Vogue, French Cosmopolitan—
tiny waisted, tiny creature.

All the while her curtains were drawn. The cicadas
chirped outside (assiduous, all night, calling).
The window she saw was metal, barred,
a spiral center that
showed only white wall against
bamboo, its burnt-sienna
kettle standing out from gold trim,
the door, long removed
from its jamb:
the only life in the otherwise
empty room.

She was so much sadder than we knew
in her black Brooklyn jersey,
with its diamond 22;
in her velvet sweatpants
padding up and down the
faded linoleum waiting for
Godot?
Inspiration. Her fickle muse. Flighty.
It fed on seacress and watermelon.
It fed on plankton,
the stuff from the sea—primordial ooze.
It fed on fluid,
white and sticky,
thick crimson,
the salt of sweat and tears and
the thunder of God in
passing cumulonimbus.

Once, she had been lovely,
and the moon split its shadow self,
revealing a treasure of jewels,
iridescent; she sat and was
adored, for many reasons, but
having once
drowned in the shallows—
now, she is said to be
regular. mortal.
dethroned woman granting
audience in
empty rooms.

Reviews

[J]

I have read this several times ~ and what initially struck me were the colors, the outrageous colors, colors so unique and original [sliced cucumber and dijon mustard! rose quartz and lapis lazuli!] that the possibility of anything other than a wounded mind occupying these empty rooms, I found impossible to imagine. Each stanza is such a departure into a glorious yet aching reality, I had to gasp at the sadness and beauty ......... and start over again with the first line.

You are an amazing writer. You tell a story quite oblique, couched in fantasy and stark realism. I am most gratified to have read you.

Thank you, ;-)
j

[Last Lying Look]

Wow this was really neat. I loved the descriptive words and the fantastic lines in this piece.
Great work!!! :)

[Rain Bo]

You probably already know this, but fantastic description.

Wonderful poem.

[Micheal Teal]

Evocative , descriptive and truly original. You have created a wonderful piece of poetry that leaves the reader wondering what is next , what has passed , why... The key to good writing is to create something that wets the appetite for more.

Exceptional poem. I look forward to reading more of your work.

[K.F. Draven]

Great description! Great work. Your writing is superb. Don't ever stop!!

[Jaclyn]

Wow! I forget what the waiting for Godot reference is...however, other than that...

This is really great. I mean, as I very often say, I don't understand a lot of poetry without a ton of analyzing, and this was no exception. I'm not going to interpret this because I think you'll be really disappointed. LOL However, I loved the feel of it, a little beautiful, a lot sad...and I say this a lot on this site, but it is true a lot: the imagery was fantastic, so rich and vivid that I couldn't help but picture these people, the clothes, the jewelry, the empty rooms...

It is fantastic to see a truly talented writer emerge on this site. I always love to see the new people on here, but when someone's really great, it's even better. Keep writing, and I'll keep reading!