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Click hereEven when my hair went grey
I avoided the obits.
And then today I saw your
picture as I was paging
along towards Dear Abby.
You were older, but older
and the same. I felt a sharp
flare of love and sex and fear
and I remembered those last
slow days where our love fluttered
helplessly about like a
pet bird with clipped wings who was
puzzled why he couldn't just
fly out the window and up
into the big branched maple
in the yard. But, oh, also
I remember how there was
then still that animal pull—
how I would cling, cling to you
and not just from habit or
pride. Even now at times, when
wrapped close in my husband's arms,
it is your strong hands I feel
on my belly, your firm thighs
that press long against my thighs.
It is your breath on my neck.
And I think, God, I must be
a palimpsest or something
and I wonder where you've gone
and whether you thought of me
at all as you were dying.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,500 poems.
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yes, the begining did not grab me but you got a little more real half way through and the ending was cutting. I gave you a five for it none the less, well earned.
~S
oop that last comment was me.
and no I am not tying her up in the basement.
as long as she stays that is.
annas
intense, I love the flow of your writing, how it involved Action, not just description, it pulled me right through to the end, to the thud, left reverberating long after I stopped reading.
You are not permitted to leave literotica.
As in a scrapbook,
old love lives on ~
never replaced;
even in death, it never dies...
at the end
when my curtain draws down
I wonder who will wonder
and care as I care
as i leave the stage
who will stand and shout
encore
a shame really
to learn that love endures
only by riding it out
to the end.
I see you are new to the site.
I liked this a lot at several levels. When you have a close attachment to someone, sure there is always an imprint in your memories.
I like the palimpsest bit. There is a lot of truth there. I've never thought as memory as something tucked in little boxes, one for each memory. I look at it like the scrabble letters in their bag, everytime you pull a word out it is a little different.
Very nicely done!
and it leads the reader along nicely. sad it may be, but it definitely worth the read......don
this poem is mentioned in the New Poem Review Thread:
http://www.literotica.com:81/forum/showthread.php?p=15098747&posted=1#post15098747
jim : )