Aftermath Of a Summer Snow
Marguerite Davesnelles
Age claimed
The half of her face
The fire did not take,
But I can feel about her
All the things that canít be seen
Her humanity and her pain,
After all, she was my caregiver.
There she stands
With a cane in each hand
One for each sister,
That I now remember
She had.
They think she grew
Absent and transfixed.
But I know her eyes
Are set on a past
Only her and I can see.

How did she escape?

She and the few other spectral shapes
Decrepit and crumbling down,
Pointy morsels of stone wall
Darkened bits of history,
Still erect but tired
Of their own defiance
Of oblivion,
Outline the depth of the loss.
Last pieces of evidence
It wasnít all my dream,
It seems like they were
Waiting for my return
To finally give up
And collapse in my arms.
They are the top of the mast
Of a slowly sinking ship,
The handle of a buried chest
Sticking out above ground,
An outstretched hand
Waving goodbye,
About to be covered
Forever in time.
They are
My only remaining friends
Who grew old
While I grew up.

She could be my deliverer
From thirty years
Of haunting questions,
The very last keeper
Of Everything
I am still not sure
I want to know.
And yet,
I am walking down
Towards her.

Precedent Suivant