Remembrance

Prose poem written for a Writer's Cafe contest.

Traumatised

I look ahead

The rotor of the ceiling fan oscillates

To the sad hymn of my rites

A memento of my life

Doused in holy water

Oh how that spinning shape recalls my first bow-tie

Upon another uniform

On civvie street before

Once upon a livelihood

In times unwed to war

 

I want so much to ask them

Why the gold upon my finger is not felt there anymore

Are images of offspring close to hand?

And why those flailing arms and legs and souls
Are floating all around

But my mouth is dry enough to mute the tongue

Nor will my mind still upon the blue and white spectators

Who seem to morbidly dread the final score

The absence of smiles or hope, at last evokes the answer

And I remember my body laid down on the ground

Upon a romantic field- bereft of love or butterflies

I wonder where they faded to

As the rotor turns beyond my time.

Author's Note

Highlighted words denote the ten required as part of the body of the work.

Reviews

[Tovli]

very special poem--enjoyed the read. tovli