Within her arms he hung. A rag doll. Mouth open. Eyes blank, staring, the dull white of polished glass. No one stopped, sweeping by her as water roiling around a boulder. She stood against the stream of bodies, of time, of life and death dancing in her mind, held in her embrace. His blood seeping into the white fabric of her blouse, the last of life leaving, leaving her standing, a shell of herself as if something within her had opened and all of her had voided leaving just a frame, her skin and bones, as empty as the vessel he had once seen, as empty as that vase without flowers, standing upon the grave of his body, empty.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
1944 (vase without flowers)
Within her arms he hung. A rag doll. Mouth open. Eyes blank, staring, the dull white of polished glass. No one stopped, sweeping by her as water roiling around a boulder. She stood against the stream of bodies, of time, of life and death dancing in her mind, held in her embrace. His blood seeping into the white fabric of her blouse, the last of life leaving, leaving her standing, a shell of herself as if something within her had opened and all of her had voided leaving just a frame, her skin and bones, as empty as the vessel he had once seen, as empty as that vase without flowers, standing upon the grave of his body, empty.
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12 comments:
Yet who is in that grave?
You've been MIA too long, again. Do you know the song Pretty Polly? I'm not sure whether to call it "folk" or "taditional". Judy Collins, among others, is known for it?
Forgive the mess, half-asleep.
Superb piece of writing, compelling, effective. The contrast between the night before and the lifelessness of him now, likewise so evocative of the passage within the previous that spoke of changed rules, of life precarious, of living not in moments, of taking revenge. 'At any moment' came quickly. The individuality of grief, especially in times such as these where death is everywhere, time never stops at any time, at this time, neither does another, anyone else but she. The flood, gorgeous, gorgeous passage, incredibly affecting, incredibly well-written, of life still being fought for washing past her on either side, the imagery is exceptionally stirring - shall have to come back to this in daylight, just brilliant. Again the red of white so rich and vivid, and the absorbing words that accompany of life leaving add stress, accentuate the already sorrowful image. Emotional read. And the emptiness that she feels as life leaves him, as though her spirit is being taken too, gosh, waiting on bright eyes to say better this is a moving, masterfully written continuance. One more gorgeous for the road. A wow too.
Troy, I have no idea.
Lime, I had a death in the family, which has limited my blogging time and not left me much in the mood to write as you might imagine. Thanks for checking it. Always nice to know someone out there notices when I'm absent.
As for the song, can't say I'm familiar with it.
Sunshine, I really do wish I could enjoy the writing as much as you do. As I've said many times before, all I can see is the rough edges and where I would make revisions and changes. I am unable to simply appreciate it. But it is so very nice to know that you do and even if I were blind and could never see the paintings I do, I'd still do them for you. And that is what pieces like this are, at least in my mind.
I am so sorry. Later - when you're up for it - I'll tell you about the song and the images it AND your writing conjured up. I thanked you for it on my blog. Feel peaceful.
Thanks Lime.
Aw, Tree, it was a tip of the hat until I realized that you were suffering when you wrote that. Now it's more bowing at the altar. You don't know how you fill my soul with your words and images. Although I use lots of words, I'm not always tremendously efficient. But you touch me in all sorts of ways and I am truly sorry you're hurting.
Lime, so often I write and receive few comments. To read what you have said takes my breath. And so I sigh and read again.
Stunning...
Thanks S. :-)
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