To an Empty Room

it has become all bones by now:
a map of venous ink
bloated into ribbons,
the emptiness of each letter
bleached, and for what reason
but to return to its brethren
both dissolving into the pavement
almost gone.
yet somehow always there

where does it go?

the smell of death and water:
a reminder of youth
when autumn was still a surprise,
and the redness of it
was a shock, a gift,
an embrace
(back then we were loved, we thought)
but now it lies forgotten,
as infinite as an afterthought

it was as still
as a housefly
asking for life only tentatively, now.
on a bleached windowsill
a leg twitching:
waving its last goodbye
to an empty room
(it is always an empty room)

don’t imagine
that it was a birthday card
in the pile of dead leaves
because
it could have been anything:
a receipt,
a dollar bill,
a pile of vacated wishes;
but it now drowns silently
into the vastness of the universe:
a cycle it must suffer
(we all must suffer)
again and again
to an empty room

12 thoughts on “To an Empty Room

  1. Wow! You have returned with a roar, Kat. A visual, visceral poem. I imagined seeing through the speaker’s eyes as I was led through a house, a yard, down a street gutter. Memories of life returned to where they came, into the universe to be recycled again. Excellent work.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. My imagination can be overpowering in the right scenario. My Head Elves do run away with the story but it is still captivating, even in my wayward view. I credit the quality of your writing and subject matter for my vivid interpretations.

        Liked by 1 person

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