For Writers' Island - 'HAUNTED'













LOSS

It’s like she’s lost
a limb. One-winged
she drones in circles,

tilted, out of kilter,
leans in doorways
left behind.

Lopsided, drowned
in a crowd, she stares
at walls for hours,

following the logic
of the brickwork
but the sums

make no sense:
two minus one becomes
none; she disappears.

Then again, loss
means increase:
enormously alone,

she fills rooms.
Stiff with solitude,
she is trapped in

small spaces. Landlocked,
she is a continent
without roads, without cities.

Maps are redundant:
all directions lead
to polar north.

Loss is totality:
bells shake out
no sound;

water runs dry
from the tap;
lanterns cast

no light;
she hangs in space,
a dark star,

all substance compressed
into a single voice,
tongueless, raw breath,

a sonar probe
reaching for
first words.

Words come like
broken glass. Light
returns, blinding white.

Grief squalls, uncoiling,
eyes wide and
red with blood.

pic: http://bright_birch.typepad.com/photos/kims_blog_graphics/empty_room.jpg