A wrinkled hand once
Delved amongst moth-eaten silks
And watery whites
- Arresting
One yellow tinged memory
Of a modern Amazon;
The time-tainted effigy
Of a hard eyed and heartless woman;
The old woman’s rheumy gaze
Flicked from picture to broken mirror,
“It was love,”
She whispered in earnest
To the eerily empty room;
“More than anything else
I was born wanting it.”
But cruel shadow and truth
The dwelled in the monstrous flower’s
Diamond glare,
Would not allow the triumph
Of such a liberal lie
“More than anything else,”
Came the whispered cant;
“She was simply born
Wanting”
A door creaking open once,
Laid out before the fallen queen
- Tear streaked sky,
And swollen sapphire sea;
Behind her
The silenced Polaroid wept and bled,
Shiny scissor blades
And salt.
Regret
