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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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This entry was posted on October 7, 2010 at 10:08 pm and is filed under poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

3 Responses to “Behind the Glass”

  1. Joni Says:
    October 8, 2010 at 8:37 am

    Man, this is macabre.

    Like

  2. Enough! Says:
    October 8, 2010 at 11:54 am

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

    Like

  3. Mark Woods Says:
    October 8, 2010 at 7:56 pm

    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

    Like

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