The Gone Woman

The narrative of living
spun here, coddled and threadbare,
nurtures a repetition,
and thanks the nurturing soul
of one with no right idea
what impression the naked
hiding of her hair behind

her ear left. The necklace
hid in her locker, the bear
as a noble gift, the nile
which carves Africa and leaves
in its place a noxious fume,
resources of nuclear
reactors, that null space I

could never fill. I rifle
through old pictures, a nifty
collection of vacation
photos, us in Fiji, us
and our first kiss, us lifting
ourselves to a nirvana
nere imagined, all of it

imagined. Nothing you say
now, serious, sarcastic
or snarky, could mitigate
the risks I’m still want to take,
should you show up at my door,
notes in hand, a symphony
writ to fill this awkward space.

*seven line stanzas, one leads into the next, project taken from the pallidrome post at
each stanza is worked from the name of a once and always loved one



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

One thought on “The Gone Woman

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