Penelope

gustave-dore-andromeda

There are several ways to deal

with things like this. First of all

I turned his absence into a dress

of crushed peach, wore his sailing shade

against my hip. These sad impressions

of the body, silk islands.

 

I avoided the danger, flesh-coloured 

skirts on the thigh. There are 

other things I could do.

I could cradle his heap of clothes

like a soft baby. I could drop them 

down the stairs, arrange them

into his shape. Kid myself

even though he’s dissolved into must

and collar-starch. Leave his scent 

forever on the staircase.

 

I could take off my shoes in the evening

and bring his dead shirts to my nose.

Feel the weight of the world in my arms.

In the nights, under moon-cracked skies

I picture him somewhere below her,

have him lit like a searchlight. I think of him 

as I cling like a lizard,

skirts screwed in someone’s fist.

I think I can do this now.

 

I don’t even notice the door click shut,

his wrecked and shaking return.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

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