Him now absent


CC Image Source
Last Tuesday
I met a widow whose
                 form hung
like a hanger-draped
costume; her
outline was threshed
him-now-absent, while
grown notable on
12 months’ constancy
weighted by


Desolation meant
that he
loomed, supra
death. Purposeful.
More real
than she.
Grief preceded her – a cold
front skirting
billowy isobars.
I staggered before
this synoptic force. Insuperable
absence shrouded her
face, hands,
We sat,
seemingly tranquil
for one
hour, and she spoke of family
seachanging with his
name ablaze in reminiscence,
centre-staged, woe as
counterpoint, textured
filigree, a filter, as
if some sleight of
hand or fated decree had
filched him instead of
her, yet
static mortal fibres 
klaxoned “Not him.
My love.
Take me!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s