Ruth and The Divine

A prose poem exploring the imagery within the mind of a woman with dementia who is being tantalised by the imagined presence of a past lover.

Their hands were clasped together. Twilight had swiftly been replaced by the fluorescing moon which illuminated the silver strands that framed Ruth’s face. Her visage was decorated by delicate lines which formed comfortably alongside her smile. She had found repose with her age. A sense of awe emanated from her soft eyes and her cheeks rose allowing her eyes to thin with joy. Her fingertips mingled with that of a young woman’s whose skin was tinted with a bronze hue which complemented her beauty. Ruth’s feeble feet stumbled through the grass as the two women journeyed through the motions of a waltz. Gentle giggles hummed between Ruth’s lips as her chest swelled with euphoria and her gaze fixated on the other lady’s comeliness. Edging closer to the woman’s body, Ruth’s face relaxed as she found rest in the rhythm of their graceless dance. Her head found refuge on the young woman’s shoulder and her body was embraced by bronzed arms whilst Ruth’s warm tears dampened such skin as well as her own fair cheeks. Ruth’s mind had been tainted by age and what first appeared to be mere oblivion had slipped into an inescapable state of amnesia, yet as her feet shyly glided through the bedewed blades of grass she was doused by remembrance. These arms that held her so tenderly and that face which emulated grace and glee accompanied by a heavenly form had once belonged to the woman she loved. A lady who she adored yet never learnt to wholly embrace as her timid spirit grappled to find ease with such vulnerable confessions. Her tears didn’t derive from lamentation, but rather the fulfilment of what felt like a centenarian desire to be held by someone she loved. The lady smiled lovingly in Ruth’s direction and her subtle allure shone humbly underneath the illumination of the night. Behind the frame and pane of a distant window, an on-looker’s eyes gazed curiously upon the image of Ruth dancing slowly swathed in tranquility and bliss, yet completely alone, immersed in a world of unknowing and in fear of the passing time Ruth clasped the woman’s hand tighter willing her not to leave like they so often did.

Reviews

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

.....Although this appears as an imposing wall of words, I'm glad to have sampled your writing style.
.....I like the voice, alliterations, and phrasing. Vivid imagery, opens the mind and heart, as the story unfolds.
.....Many readers may pass this up due to lack of form. I know this site undoes indents and line breaks. We need to do that manually.
.....For poetry, I use centered text, when writing. Depending on where we break each line, and stanza breaks, our words present a more fluid form, on the page.
.....I am duly impressed by your expressions, or would not hammer presentation. You have the gift. It deserves to be presented as an appealing package, separating it from the mundane.

[Chris Shaw]

Eloquent and touching to read. I did feel that lump in my throat as I finished your lines. I don't often get that, so I say congratulations. Good job done. Wonderful description and you transported me. I was there.

Chris

[Jesse Judge]

Thank you so much for your encouraging words!