Monday, April 22, 2013

Stale in her pages

The old aunt forgot to eat her soup, forgot to die as well, as old aunts sometimes do — forgot to die, forgot her soup, gazed out instead at the world drowning in sunlight, as in afternoons she was wont to do, keeping evenings for memories dim or bright as stars — forgot to die, forgot her soup, drowning in sunlight, keeping evenings, lost therein until her niece arrived to find her a long unopened book, so stale in her pages she did not turn away quickly enough — forgot to die, forgot her soup, drowning in sunlight, stars in the evening, setting thus in motion — a fan to move the air, a flame to warm the soup, a brush to tame the hair, courage to read on, patience for the end.


Ed Baker said...

nice refrain.

I'm seeing this piece in a different form;

and in the hearing-sounding,

am just 'dealing' with the word-image as you 'have' "it"
here in #29 of a run am working patiently for the end?

William Michaelian said...

I suppose the best we can do is let it be whatever it is until it becomes something else, if it ever does. I like your question mark. That just might be the clue we’re looking for, if we’re looking for one. Me, I’m for moving on.