Apr 2022
Ache of an absence,
half gone
and seeing phantoms
in the place you used
to be,
a vacant hook
where a sunny cagoule
would slouch,
handwritten supermarket
reminders
slapped against the fridge.
What it’s like to lose
a limb, dim pulse,
futile scramble
for meaning in the missing,
and the morning’s severed
yolk bathes little but
the wicked iced side
of the bed where a spirit
disrupts your space.
half gone
and seeing phantoms
in the place you used
to be,
a vacant hook
where a sunny cagoule
would slouch,
handwritten supermarket
reminders
slapped against the fridge.
What it’s like to lose
a limb, dim pulse,
futile scramble
for meaning in the missing,
and the morning’s severed
yolk bathes little but
the wicked iced side
of the bed where a spirit
disrupts your space.
Written: April 2022.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
