the first warm day in spring which has arrived too late

By pleurotus

Sat, 26 Jul 2014
  • 650 reads
2 comments
 
I stand on a pavement
with the grime 
of a thousand worn shoes 
making its way onto 
the soles of mine. 
 
Above me wails 
a silver bullet of a train. 
 
I want to scream at it. 
Instead I close my eyes.
Tight, tight, close, tight,
eyelashes touch my cheeks 
in a foreign caress. 
 
I am momentarily lost. 
I am waiting for a man. 
The tinny rumble comes again,
I keep my eyes closed,
I want to be surprised when I see him.
The Ghost. 
 
He is the one who haunts me. 
He is the one who visits 
when I am most weary,
when I am most alone.
 
Eyes still closed.
Train passes,
I can open them again.
But my eyelids grow heavy with 
the darkness
I could almost disappear,
shrink down to the width 
of a gauzy drapery hanging from a window.
 
I imagine myself 
strung up along a curtain rod 
skinned bare 
with barely 
any life left
pale white even though my skin 
is exposed to the harsh sunlight.
 
I face inward toward the room 
while the inside of my skin is
exposed to the salt air 
like it has aways wanted to be. 
 
The rest of me,
the bones guts nails fluids,
are somewhere else 
waiting for a train 
on the first warm day in spring 
which has arrived too late
while I try to make myself invisible 
to avoid meeting 
The Ghost.
Certificate 12
Poem
Spiritual
Surreal
Romance
Love

Comments

Submitted by insertponceyfre... on

Welcome to ABC Pleurotus! Some great imagery in this poem - I enjoyed it

 

Submitted by pleurotus on

thank you for reading and commenting!