Behind the Glass

They drip with elegiac elegance
Shrewd and secretive
They keep themselves hidden
Small and self contained
As postage stamps

Arranging and rearranging
Themselves as the rain
Beats against the walls
Of the nursing Home
As beyond the French windows

The sea foams
Lumbering and sorrowful
And the ancient ladies
Measure out the years
In false teeth and glass eyes

In long afternoons
In musty, old-fashioned rooms
Agony – it drips, it thickens
The edifice collapses
Coming undone, unravelling.

Invisible, the pagan heart beats.
Those lavender ladies seethe
They can barely speak
But at night the dead awaken
And the blood pounds beneath.


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3 Responses to “Behind the Glass”

  1. Joni Says:

    Man, this is macabre.


  2. Enough! Says:

    O, for the love of God, will you leave the wee lass alone?
    And you know full well who I’m talking about.


  3. Mark Woods Says:

    reminds me of how difficult it is to tackle emotional pain, so many of us will remain silently in pain rather than having the guts to speak about what is in our innermost beings, like samuel beckett’s Not I played famously on tv by Billie nWhitelaw. Impressive Marie Louise, if it is by yourself. Mark Woods


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