this is a jigsaw poem the bold words were provided by commenter’s on poets who blog….
a wrinkled wrap
of waxen paper
draped,,
on bent fish bones..
sharp and spindly
clarified by time..
the volatile mother
of my precious youth,
retreated now..
alone,, adrift,, inside
the decomposing
stocking, of her own
opaque ivory flesh..
just the smoke
of a bitter old woman
remains.. trapped
silently behind
onion skin eyelids,
that flutter sometimes
as she peacefully surrenders
her once toxic flame
to a reversal in the wind
that too carries off
my life long fantasy
of deathbed forgiveness…
photo:
http://lilyana.deviantart.com/art/old-woman-series-9-45948033
