literature

Flames

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Literature Text

There are flames where
his head should be -
forty pieces of silver
a dressing gown, a pipe
a poem left in the fireplace.

This man promised you a winter
so warm and bountiful
spring would be ashamed.
He called you by name -
not the one that father knew
shoved under his bible

But the one left behind
in the branches,
in the bucket of brambles,
and the columbines
buried at your feet.

Stone angels on the battlefield
surrender in the grass.
What did his face
even look like behind the curtain,
counting those coins
and loosening the damp earth
from your shoes?
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AElfrics-Cat's avatar
Adore how bittersweetly nostalgic this feels. Brings an odd juxtaposition of longing and disappointment. No, disappointment's not quite strong enough... but articulating it is just what this piece does. Brilliant last verse. Lovely. x