Spartan cellfloor plain as wall
I sit
I stare at a steel door
one of many
gloss gray
Sunlight slats
my solitary window
a silent visitor
I close my eyes
to the click of heel
sound linked
to history
And for a moment
I am not here
but there
a foreign land
divided by a common
language
a common shore
I sit there
as I sit here
alone
afraid
the pew as hard
as my bed
the light as stained
as the memory
From somewhere
someone is walking
heels on cobbles
heels on stone
rhythmic
melodic
deliberate
meditative
doppler
I smell ancient wood
and see standards hung
scenes hued between lead
and the cold of great
heights
reaching
arching
beaconing
as fingers
whispering
for
my
soul
Tethered
I feel
by forces unknown
quartered
my soul
by fate postponed
Like drops from a gutter
the rain gone
nature's clock
moving
clicking
clacking
I hear the heels
I sense the beads
I know the prayers
and I wonder
how one so close
one belayed to me
can be so far
so distant
so cold
"Mairi, are you okay?"
Looking up through blurry eyes as if looking not through space but through time, where the texture was not of air but of heart and history, of voices fading, of hands reaching, slipping, tears as blood, falling, life escaping, she said:
"No."
2 comments:
How eloquent is the last part of this post, in tone and texture to borrow a little, illuminating so finely how vivid memory can be, how virtual transportation to a time and place long ago, how consuming a memory conjured can be eclipsing current world with past world. Gripping, emotional, intriguing and inspiring contemplation as only The Story can - shall have to suffice for now. Happy evening to you H
Thank you Ms Storm. I wrote this for me and as I finished, I knew it suited Mairi and the pain she is feeling at Dr X going his separate way after Polaris--or at least that is what is in my mind since the story has not told us this. ;-)
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